


How to be Heroes

by TheKenwick



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Everyone Needs A Hug, Food, Friends to Lovers, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings, Moving In Together, Multi, Mutation, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Plot, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 112,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKenwick/pseuds/TheKenwick
Summary: Deadpool has been hired to gather information about Spider-Man, but he is a fickle bug, and the job is taking longer than expected. Obviously this could put him at odds with his favorite hero, but there's a shit ton of money involved, and it's not like his client would be able to kill the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Wade definitely has everything under control.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 163
Kudos: 342





	1. When In New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, brief mentions of attempted r*pe

Wade was back from a job in Canada where he had unalived a stalker, and he was starving. “Time for pancakes.” He rubbed his hands together and skipped toward his apartment.

{oh em gee, big guy. It’s the opening scene.}

“What, again?”

{Strike a pose.}

Wade unsheathed his Katanas and tucked into a roll. A passerby shrieked. He resumed skipping, now with his katanas held in front of him and his head bobbing to the sweet, sweet beat of Footloose. If the people on the street weren’t avoiding him before, they certainly were now.

[Wow. That’s a great use of our time. We need food, Wade.]

{What’s next? Getting all stabby stabby on a motherfucker is a waste of time? You just don’t understand joy.}

Wade’s stomach was feeling painfully empty. His gut twisted in on itself, and his body ached with fatigue. “White’s right. Pancakes are a priority.” He laughed. He needed fuel for his upcoming job, a job involving the one and only Spidey! There was extra bounce in Wade’s next skip. “Hell, when are pancakes _not_ a priority?”

[Wade, wait.]

{Changed your mind so soon?}

[Shut up. Do you hear that?]

Wade paused, tilting his head. Muffled shrieks could be heard from an alley just behind him. “Nice call, White. Fun then food.” He spun the katana, running into the alley. A man was standing in front of a wall, pinning someone’s arms against the brick with one arm and muffling their cries for help with the other.

Wade grabbed his shoulder and turned the attacker so that he was in the same position the woman was in. Wade pinned him against the wall, mirroring the scene he walked in on.

{Stab the fucker.}

Wade nodded, and pulled a knife from his boot, plunging it into the man’s thigh. The man screamed.

The woman was frozen, still standing against the wall. Her eyes and mouth were wide open. She was trembling. Wade used his katana to stab through the man’s shoulder into the wall. That should hold him for a while.

“You alright, lady?”

[Clearly not. Now she has to deal with two monsters in one night.]

“Oh, that one hurt. I’m clearly the hero in this scene.”

[You’re never the hero, Wade.]

“Eh, true.” He shrugged.

The woman’s eyes narrowed then widened again. Her breathing was rapid. Wade backed away from the douche he had pinned to the wall and held his hands up, showing he wasn’t holding weapons.

[That doesn’t help when every other surface of your body is covered with weapons.]

Wade glanced down at his suit which was littered with more guns and knives and shrugged. “But if my hands are up, it shows I’m not reaching for them. Keep up, White.”

The woman blinked.

“Oh! Right. Um, you alright, lady? Look, I’m not gonna hurt you or anything. You just looked like you needed some assistance taking care of this asshole.”

She nodded slowly. “Are you Spider-Man?”

{That’s so cute! See! She does think we’re a hero.}

[Again, we’re never the hero.]

{Shut the fuck up. Let us enjoy this moment.}

“No, I’m not. Common mistake. I’m like his darker, edgier twin who was all rebellious and shit. He’s the favorite child. Or maybe he’s more like an only child cause I was disowned? I don’t fucking know.”

“Spider-Man has a twin?” She looked thoroughly distracted now. Mission accomplished.

{I thought our mission was to tear that motherfucker on the wall to pieces.}

Wade laughed, lowering his hands. “No, it’s just, like, metaphorical. Poetry and all that jazz.”

[Definitely not poetry.]

“Wanna tell me what happened, or do you wanna just leave, and I’ll take care of this guy for you?”

She gulped. So much for distraction. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Wade and the other guy. She took a hesitant step back, watching Wade closely. He stayed still. She began backing up, gaining speed until she was sprinting out of the alley.

Wade clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “ _Well_ , then. Looks like it’s just us now.”

{Yesss. Cut his head off all slow-like. No -- wait. Arms first, then head.}

“Mugger or rapist?” Wade’s voice was low and cool, the whites of his mask narrowed.

[Based on his pants, my bet is on the latter.]

Wade glanced down and saw that his belt and zipper were undone. Everything went red.

{Rip him apart. Make that dickwad _pay_.} Yellow was snarling, and their words distantly registered in Wade’s mind as he pulled the knives out of the man and threw him to the ground.

He stomped on his leg, feeling the sharp crack. The man groaned. The blood loss had already caused him to nearly pass out.

[We can’t have that. Make him feel everything.]

Deadpool slapped his face back and forth. “You don’t get out of this that easily. Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

[There’s nothing beautiful about this shit stain of a human.]

{More beautiful than us. Show him your ugly mug, big guy. Having to see that rotten avocado will be a good punishment.}

Wade shook his head. The red began to fade, the white hot anger all that remained. He pulled a knife out slowly. He twirled the blade and lifted it above his target.

There was a soft gasp behind him. His head whipped around. The glint of a camera lens caught his eye. “Shit. I don’t have time for this right now.”

He shoved a katana into the man’s shoulder to pin him again and stood up. He heard scuffling around the corner to the left and ran.

A small person in a hoodie was running down the street. Wade pulled out a gun and aimed steadily. The sound of a shot sent adrenaline through him, and a grin stretched across his face.

{He shoots. He scores!}

The camera was knocked out of their hand. Also, definitely unusable now. Wade kept running. He needed to make sure those pictures were gone.

[Yeah, it’s not like there are already hundreds of pictures of us murdering people all over the internet. These ones are important.]

{Eh. I’d say dozens. Hundreds is kinda exaggerated, don’t you think?}

“I can’t let people know I’m back in New York yet. We have a job to do. Gotta stay under the radar.”

[What about the woman you saved?]

“She doesn’t know who I am. She thought I was Spider-Man,” he scoffed.

{I know. Adorable. Like we could ever hold a candle to him.}

The person had stopped in the street, clutching their camera tightly and shaking their head in disbelief.

Wade ran full force into the figure, knocking them to the ground. He pinned their arms and legs down and leaned into their face.

“Sorry, kid. I’m camera shy. Can’t afford to let you sell those risqué pics, even though I know there’d be quite an audience who would pay big time for a view of my hot bod.”

{That’s the spirit, big guy. Fake it till you make it.}

[Sure, but we’ll never actually be hot, though. It’s just fake it and fake it some more.]

The man beneath him had soft brown hair and a smattering of freckles over his nose. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t struggle. Surprising.

Wade shrugged. Fight, flight, freeze was a thing. He must have gone with freeze. But he didn’t look scared, just surprised. Wade needed to change that. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his voice lowered. “Don’t move or I will blow your fucking brains out.”

[I don’t understand what the point is here. We already took care of the pictures.]

“No, we still have to check. So _you_ better not try and run, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” the man finally said. He still didn’t look scared.

{The fuck?}

Wade sat back, releasing his grip slightly. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the camera. With his other hand he pulled a knife from his belt and pressed it to the man’s throat. “Sure you aren’t. Doesn’t matter. I really don’t care.” Wade paused and looked down again. “No, I take that back. I sure hope you aren’t shitting me right now because _damn,_ babe.”

{You said it. _Damn,_ Daniel.}

[I doubt his name is Daniel.]

{I’m being hip, White. Get with the program. Let me express my admiration in peace.}

“I don’t think that’s really a thing anymore,” Wade scoffed.

{It’s timeless.}

The man shifted beneath him and was squinting up at Wade, mouth turned down. He still wasn’t struggling.

[Seriously, the fuck? Something’s weird here.]

Wade stood up and grabbed the man’s shoulder, pulling him up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Wade said brightly, “I have some business to finish.” He tossed the camera, caught it, and turned around to stroll back toward his alley -- yes, it was his now. He claimed it. Feet pattered behind him. The man reached his side and began walking in step with him.

“Get out of here, kid. You’re not gonna want to see this. Believe me.”

{What happened to ‘shooting his fucking brains out.’}

“Shut up. I never said that,” he muttered under his breath.

The man squinted at him again, then turned to face forward. “First of all, I’m 28. Definitely not a kid.”

Wade stopped in his tracks and waved his hand to gesture at him. “Is he serious?”

[He looks pretty serious. Doesn’t mean he’s not lying.]

{Okay, but he looks like a baby.}

“Fair point, White. 10 points to Hufflepuff. Yellow, you’re only saying the obvious.”

[I’m clearly Ravenclaw.]

“Sure, bud.” Wade chuckled and stepped forward again, continuing toward the alley. He had run farther than expected, and all of these alleys looked the same.

The man beside Wade sighed. “Yes, I’m serious. Also, I need that camera. I’ll delete the pictures of you, but please. I need it.”

Wade eyed him. He was wearing tattered jeans, and his hoodie looked a size too small with holes in the sleeves. His hair was oily and matted.

{Okay, like, can you imagine how fluffy that would be if it was actually washed. Holy fuck. Catch me, White. I’m falling.}

[Fuck you.]

“Play nice. We’re in the middle of a conversation here.” Wade shook his head to try and clear it. It wouldn’t work. It never did. A bullet to the brain sometimes did the trick, but Wade still had that shitbag to deal with. He raised his voice to speak to the man. “Your camera has a bullet hole. I don’t think it’ll do much for you. Are you homeless or something? This your only worldly possession?”

“No. What?” The man sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I just need it, and I’m not leaving without it.” He glared at Wade.

[I wish I could do that. You two have no _idea_ what I would give for just one beautiful glare.]

Wade chuckled humorlessly. “I’m gonna assume you don’t know who I am. Consider this your one free pass. The camera’s mine now. Piss off.”

{Noooo, don’t threaten him. I like him.}

[So does Wade, clearly. The guy’s smitten already.]

{So... what? Our standards are now ‘people who don’t run away screaming?’}

[Sounds about right.]

“Still doesn’t leave many options,” Wade murmured. He turned away from the man to look down an alley. “There she is. Home sweet home.”

“You live here?” The man was still standing next to him. Did he not get the message to piss off? Wade thought he had been clear. He didn’t give the camera man the satisfaction of an answer. Maybe silence would do the trick.

[Good luck with that.]

Wade marched down the alley a few steps before seeing the asswipe from earlier still pinned to the ground. He was unconscious now. Wade put his foot on the man’s chest for leverage and pulled the katana out of his shoulder slowly. He held the camera up and tried to turn it on. Surprisingly, the screen flashed on. The bullet had hit the side, but didn’t seem to have quite destroyed it. “Damage assessment?” He scanned the camera. There was a small tag that said “Property of Peter P.” and had a phone number on it.

[I don’t know anything about cameras, Wade.]

“Well, you’re fucking useless, then, huh?” Wade hummed Fergalicious under his breath and scrolled through the pictures, deleting all of the ones with him in the frame. Once he finished, he ran his hand over the side, doing his best to figure out if anything important was hit by the bullet.

The man on the ground groaned and rolled onto his stomach. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. We can’t have that now can we?”

The man’s movements became more frantic. “Please. No.” His words sounded gargled. 

Wade lifted his foot to stomp down on his spine, but a hand on his arm stilled him. He blinked and turned to see the camera man (Peter?) grabbing onto his arm, looking down at the man on the ground.

Wade hissed and pulled his arm away, taking a step back. Yellow was still singing Fergalicious, having taken over for Wade. “Shut up, Yellow,” he muttered lowly.

Yellow did not shut up.

[This is on you. You got them started.]

{♪ _I blow kisses. Mwah. ♪_ }

Wade tossed the camera to Peter(?). “Just get out of here. Leave daddy to take care of the adult business.” Wade popped his knuckles and stepped forward so that his feet bracketed the asshole groaning on the alley floor.

“Ew. Also, no. What are you doing?”

“Teaching him what it’s like when someone doesn’t understand the fucking _meaning_ of the word ‘no.’”

{♪ _So delicious. ♪_ }

[Seriously?]

Wade pulled out a gun and shot the shitbag’s bicep. He whimpered. “Doesn’t feel too good, does it?” Wade said cheerily.

{Fuck yeah. Finally, big guy.}

[Oh, look. You got them to stop singing.]

{That sweet sweet sight of blood. ♪ _So delicious. ♪_ }

[You’re disgusting.]

{♪ _I’m fergalicious. ♪_ }

“Would you stop for five _fucking_ minutes.”

The camera man had finally left. He had sprinted full speed back out of the ally.

{Hate to see him go, but holy hell. I love to watch him leave.}

Wade dragged his katana along the concrete, relishing the scrape of metal against rock. “Alright, bastard. Allow me to introduce you to Bea and Arthur. I know you’re just _dying_ to see them.” Wade grinned wickedly under his mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my first fic! Thank you for reading. I hope you are enjoying the story so far.  
> Updates will be every other week. Feel free to give criticism, compliments, or your general thoughts; I greatly appreciate all of it.
> 
> Content Warnings will be given as they apply to individual chapters.
> 
> Next Chapter: Enter Spidey, Peter's POV, lots of exasperation
> 
> With much appreciation,  
> Kenwick


	2. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

This was so not good. Peter needed to be fast. He didn’t want to leave the poor man alone with the psycho with guns, but he couldn’t fight him off as Peter. He needed a costume change.

He webbed his camera (now with a bullet hole through it thanks to aforementioned psycho) to the rooftop and slipped on his mask. He could still hear the voices in the alley thanks to his enhanced hearing.

“I know you’re just _dying_ to see them.” The way his low voice drew out the word ‘dying’ sent chills down Peter’s spine.

He held out a hand and shot a web. He felt the tug on his wrist and jumped down into an arc, swinging to the alley within seconds.

“Fuck if I know. Suggestions?” The psycho trailed the tip of a knife over the man’s stomach. The poor guy was hyperventilating, and his bloodshot eyes were wide.

“I like the way you think.” A pause. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Spider-Man paused. No one else was talking, but the red-leather-clad man was definitely listening to something. Maybe he had an earpiece.

Peter held back a sigh. He didn’t want to deal with taking down any organizations right now. Jameson was on his back about getting pictures in, and nothing was satisfying him so far. Peter had enough to handle, thank you very much.

When the man raised a knife above his head, Spidey snapped back to the moment. He shot a web at the knife, flicking his wrist to pull it out of the attacker’s grasp. He rushed forward, jumping into a flip when his spidey senses warned him of a bullet flying toward him.

He did a roundhouse kick, knocking the man into a wall. A quick shot of web from his fist, and the costumed man’s right hand was secured to the wall.

“OMG, Spidey! Just the bug I wanted to see.” The man was practically vibrating with energy. His demeanor had shifted from murderous villain to kid in a candy shop meeting his favorite super. Peter never got used to being glorified by people as a hero.

The guy glanced at the webbing on his arms. “Didn’t know you were into bondage. Kinky. Don’t worry, I’ll roll with it. I’m flexible. And from the looks of it, so are you. Hot damn, spider babe.” The man ran his eyes over Spidey.

Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

The man was wiggling his eyebrows.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, he’s so innocent.” The guy swooned, knees buckling so that he was held up only by the webbing. He stood back up abruptly. “I know, right?” The whites of his mask widened. “Shit.” He began frantically tugging on the webbing.

Peter had whiplash. This guy changed moods in the blink of an eye. He cleared his throat. “I meant why are you torturing this guy? You can’t just go around stabbing people.”

“I can, and I have. But this douchebag deserves what’s coming to him. He needs to be taught a lesson.” The costumed man’s voice was a gruff snarl.

Peter walked over to the victim and began inspecting his wounds. He webbed up some of the worst ones to keep the blood inside his body. A lot of it was already in a puddle around him. Gross.

In the past, Peter might have thrown up, but years of gruesome sights had toughened his stomach. He wrinkled his nose. “You don’t think the lesson has been taught yet? The police are equipped to handle this.”

“You don’t understand, Spidey. This guy is the _worst_. He was trying to force himself on someone. I’m the good guy here.” He flinched. “Well, I’m trying. It’s not like you’re doing anything in there.”

“The police will take care of it. They’ll handle you, too. Even if you think you’re helping you can’t just kill someone.”

“Police? No, thanks.” The guy pulled out a knife. 

Peter’s spidey sense didn’t go off, but he webbed his hand to the wall anyway. 

“Oh, sure. I get in trouble for causing a little spilled blood -- and let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a tasteful amount of spilled blood --” He paused again and nodded to himself. “-- but you don’t get in trouble for jizzing all over the city and all over me? Look at this shit!” He nodded his head toward one of his arms. “Police and their fucking double standards.

“What? I don’t -- It’s webs!” Peter brought his hands to his face.

“Mm-hm. Sure, Spidey. Try and convince me all you want, but I know all about spiders’ sexy habits with their frontly appendages. I also know that spiders put their jizz on the webs to mate. The internet educated me, and I gotta tell you.” He grinned, his mask stretching. “Facts like that _stick_.”

Peter facepalmed. “I’m going to ignore the last part, but that’s not even how it works. I’m not an actual spider! The name is Spider- _Man_ , as in _human_.” He threw his hands up and turned around. “Why am I even arguing this?” 

There was a drawn-out pause before the man finally spoke again. “That would never work, idiot.”

“What?” Peter turned back around, but the man had cut free his arms with the knife Peter had left in his hands. 

Peter hadn’t secured his hands thoroughly enough, and he left the knife behind. As the psycho moved toward the man on the ground, he realized his mistake might cost someone their life. He lunged forward. Another mistake.

His spider sense flashed through him as a knife was lodged into his side. Peter hunched over, gripping the handle.

“I’m sorry, Spidey, but I can’t let scum like this keep hurting people.”

He watched with blurry vision as the psycho stabbed the man’s chest with a long sword. “No,” Peter muttered weakly.

“Shit, I thought he had a healing factor.” Peter vaguely registered that the man was back in front of him. “How am I supposed to do that?” The man leaned down, his masked face entering Peter’s field of vision. “Spidey? You okay?”

Peter groaned and stood up. He swung a fist out in front of him, but he only hit air.

“Well, look who’s up and kicking. I told you he had a healing factor.”

Peter inhaled sharply when he took a step forward. Tight, aching pain blossomed from his wound.

“I do want that knife back, but we wouldn’t want New York’s favorite hero to bleed out in this disgusting alley. Do you have some more spider gunk? Like what you did to that asshole?”

The costumed guy did have the right idea. Peter grudgingly pulled the knife out with a hiss and webbed the wound shut. He sank back down to his knees, but his vision was no longer blurry.

“Now is _not_ the time, White. We weren’t supposed to kill him. All they wanted was a bit of recon.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. Clearly Peter was not intended to hear that. “And Rihanna has nothing to do with this, so let’s not go there.”

Peter looked up into the whites of his mask. “What?” he croaked.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Now that you’re moving again, I think it’s my cue to leave. Seeya, Webs.”

Peter heard footsteps thudding away. He closed his eyes and stood up again. His head was pounding, and he felt faint from blood loss. His apartment was only a few blocks away, so he climbed up to the roof, wincing, and grabbed his camera and civvies.

\---

An hour later, Peter was in bed, sticking a butterfly bandage over the stab wound.

He had failed. He shouldn’t have turned his back to someone who was so obviously insane and ready to murder. He should have webbed the knife away instead of jumping toward the insane killer. Because he wasn’t fast enough -- wasn’t smart enough, someone had been killed, Peter had been injured, and the murderer walked away unharmed. Peter should know better after years of experience as Spider-Man.

He had been thrown off by the leather-clad killer’s demeanor and his own damn senses. The guy had not set off Peter’s spidey sense when he tackled him or held a knife to his throat. The shot aimed at his camera didn’t set it off. The only thing that did was when he was about to kill that man. Even then, though, Peter couldn’t save him.

There were only a few times Peter had fucked up so royally as this. He failed to save Gwen as she fell. She paid the price for his panic. He let Uncle Ben’s murderer pass by when he could have done something. He had not kept Aunt May safe, and she was captured a couple years ago. He saved her, but now he rarely visited her. She needed to stay safe, and anyone near Peter did not stay safe.

He had worked at a lab focused on researching mutations, but they had turned out to be collecting mutate cells through capturing mutants and taking the samples by force. Spider-Man had taken down the organization, but now Peter had returned to freelancing photos for the _Daily Bugle_. More importantly, several mutants had been harmed because Peter couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

Spider-Man couldn’t afford to be sloppy. He couldn’t afford mistakes.

He walked over to the punching bag hung up in what was supposed to have been the guest bedroom. Each punch reverberated through his body. He absorbed the weight of the bag and pushed through. He trained hours past when he should have been sleeping.

Jameson expected pictures by the end of the week.

Peter threw a right hook.

He had a date tomorrow that he would probably cancel because everyone who got close to him got hurt.

He jumped up and swung his foot into the bag.

Laying back, he sighed and rubbed his puffy eyes. He noticed moisture on his cheeks. 

He wanted people to share his life with, to talk to about his research in biochem and mutations, to watch shitty rom-coms with. It was selfish, but he did.

\---

When he woke up, his back was stiff and his head was angled awkwardly on a box of movies. He had never bothered to buy shelves for his apartment. He sat up on the wooden floor of the guest room. Light filtered through the window, illuminating dust particles floating lazily through the air.

He pulled up his phone. The clock showed 11:23 am. He cursed. He hadn’t cancelled the date, and he had told her he’d be there at 12:00. He yanked his clothes on, scrubbed his teeth, and stuffed his feet into his shoes. On the way out, he grabbed a coat and his keys.

The ramen place was nice. The staff was friendly and said hello when he sat down. He was a few minutes early, so he shuffled his feet below the table and moved his arms into various positions, trying to find a comfortable pose.

The store bell jingled, and a woman walked in, the sun reflecting off her dark hair. Her green eyes met Peter’s, and he gave her a wavering smile.

She walked over. “Are you Peter?”

He nodded. “Katherine?” He held out a hand.

She shook it. “You can call me Kat.”

MJ had set up this date for them. Peter still met up with Ned and MJ often, but they didn’t see each other daily anymore. He missed the closeness their friendship had.

“What do you like to do, Kat?” He pulled out a chair for her then took his own seat.

She leaned forward, resting slightly on the table. “I’m a marine biologist. I study populations and how behaviors change in different environments among marine mammals. I studied ethology and ecology in school mostly.”

Peter grinned. “That’s so cool! Where do you work?”

Kat’s shoulders relaxed, and she sighed softly. “I work at a lab in Queens. I’m sure you wouldn’t know the name of it.”

Peter nodded. “I’m a scientist, too. I did research in molecular biology and cell mutations, but I’m doing photography work now.”

“Why the switch to photography?”

He shrugged. “The place I was working for was involved in some disgusting business ethics, and it was eventu --”

An explosion caused rubble to fall down on the streets outside. A plume of smoke had already billowed toward the clouds. Peter clasped his hands to his face and leaned his head back. The date had been going so well… for the few minutes they had.

He grabbed his bag, pulled the camera out, and said “Photographer. Sorry. I’ll be right back” as an explanation before rushing outside.

He had learned years ago to always carry the suit and a camera with him. The camera was more often an excuse for the suit, but it sometimes came in handy.

He found a secluded corner that smelled like urine and vomit and changed into his suit.

When he arrived at the explosion, he was surprised to see the costumed man from the night before standing in front of the exploded building.

He heard a voice coming from the gaping hole of concrete and twisted metal. Peter couldn’t make out any words, but it sounded like Korean? Maybe it was Japanese? Peter was not familiar enough with the language to tell.

The costumed man replied back easily, waving his hands and running toward the building. A fire truck drove up and nearly ran him over. He kept going, unfazed.

Peter ran after him, hearing him shout at some civilians to get out of the way, that he was handling things. Peter’s thoughts jumbled, trying to piece together information from the previous night and what he was seeing right now. Who was he supposed to be fighting?

His eyes flicked over to the flames lapping at the building. Several people were screaming inside. One of them had run to the edge of the building. She was five stories up. She couldn’t make it. Once again, it was up to Spider-Man.

He ran up the side of the building, shooting webs into windows where he saw flames leaping through rooms. He brought the people down two at a time, one holding on to each of his arms.

He would have to let the two speaking Korean or Japanese to figure out their own argument. He had his own fight to deal with. He clicked his web shooters’ settings to splatter and shot webs over the fires to put them out. The firefighters were already on scene, working with Spider-Man to extinguish the rest of the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we have met both of our heroes.
> 
> Next chapter: An encounter with Death, sneaky Wade, Enter Weasel
> 
> Much love,  
> Kenwick


	3. Bad Form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, self-harm

The building behind Wade exploded, busting into flames. Someone on the building called out to him in Japanese from the top level.

“Hiya, Crimson Blaze! I wasn’t expecting you in New York. Did you visit just for little ol’ me?” Wade responded in Japanese, fluttering his eyelashes and holding a hand to his heart.

“You are going to pay for what you did!”

[Classic villain line. Let’s be a little more creative here.]

“No, u!” Wade jabbed a finger toward Crimson. 

{Yeah, that’s more like it.}

Wade had seen her in action when they took down a child trafficking ring together. Her blood was combustible and explosive, but he had never seen an explosion this big from her. He wasn’t sure if her powers had grown or if she had lost a pint of blood just for Wade’s attention. Either way, respect.

Wade rushed toward the building. Pulling out a grappling hook, he shot into the concrete wall of the uppermost level.

[What did you do to her, Wade?]

“I unalived her daughter.” Wade felt the impact of a bullet and a brief flash of pain. “Look, Crimson, your daughter was a bad lady. I know you’re one of the good ones, so let’s just talk this through. We can make a deal, seal it with kiss. It’ll be much more pleasant than all this nonsense.” Wade gestured to the bullet wound in his stomach.

“I loved her, and you killed her! You’re a monster.” Crimson took out a pocket knife with her vibranium arm and cut her palm, causing a pool of blood to form. She smeared it over her bullets and loaded a gun.

“She was the monster! She was trying to rob my favorite taco shop in Japan! It doesn’t beat Carlo’s Carnitas Café, but nothing could beat that shit.” Deadpool moaned.

{Can we go to Carlo’s Carnitas Café after this?}

[Do you have to say the full name every time?]

{You know how alliteration turns me on. Carlo’s Carnitas Café is like a fucking wet dream.}

[Focus, please.]

{Believe me, I am focused. I want me some pork tacos. ♪ _Make them boys go loco. So delicious_. ♪}

[That was already in our last chapter. I have had quite enough of that.]

Crimson raised her gun, aiming between Deadpool’s eyes. “She was all the family I had left, asshole.” The blood-coated shot fired.

“Oh, fu--” Deadpool had raised his katana to block the shot, but the blood on the bullet exploded in a red hot ball of fire. Wade squealed, rolling back from the force of the explosion. “Damn, Crimson, that was _hot_.”

She growled and ran toward him, blood-coated katanas raised. Flames licked their way up the blades.

{Are you two twins or something?}

“Or something. Let’s be honest, though, who wouldn’t want my badass fighting style? I’m all the rage these days.”

[Why do you think they teamed up to take down that group? Wade’s infatuated with anyone who can cut people apart with flashy steel.]

“Badass style.”

{Yeah, White. It’s style.}

Their swords clashed against each other, Crimson walking forward in a flurry of glowing steel, her vibranium arm hitting with intense force that knocked Wade to the side. He regained his stance, adjusting to compensate for her strength.

Wade turned to the side as she swung forward. Her momentum carried her forward, interrupting her balance. Wade swung a katana into her leg, causing her to fall on her back. Wade smelled burning flesh and realized she had already cauterized the wound.

Within seconds, he had a gun to her head. Crimson stared back at him, the fire reflecting in her eyes, her mouth set firmly.

Wade’s head drooped. An almost imperceptible amount of tension flowed out of him. “I am sorry about Yuzuki.”

{What happened to her being a monster? She nearly destroyed one of our favorite taco shops.}

“I didn’t mean for her to die. She was about to shoot the owner, and I... I shot first.” Wade looked back into Crimson’s eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. We had good times.” He wiggled his eyebrows twice and sighed. “We could have that again.”

Crimson’s eyes went dark, her upper lip curling into a snarl. “No,” she spat. “We can’t. You took _everything_ from me.”

Wade felt heat under her skin, saw her flesh begin to tear apart as an explosion rocked through her body. Then he dropped into the inky darkness of death.

\---

Death lifted him in her arms. “Back so soon, Wade?”

Wade grinned. “Guess I just missed you.” He rolled his legs out of her arms, standing up. “Did you see Crimson pass through here?” Wade refused to look at Death while he asked. He ground his teeth together, hands in fists by his side.

“She is here. Her thread had reached its end. Yours had more length yet, but I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” Wade felt her hand rest on his shoulder, her fingers tracing the leather. "Don't forget about me, Wade."

\---

The first breath Wade took was wet and raw. His arms and legs were still piecing themselves together. A chunk of his forehead was missing. Within his limited range of vision, he examined the scene around him.

Crimson Blaze had managed to control her explosion so that only the roof was destroyed. Smoke drifted up from blackened plaster. There was nothing left of her to find.

Wade picked himself up with stilted movements. Muscles formed around fragments of bone that clicked together. Several of Wade’s weapons were melted among the rubble, but Wade managed to recover most of his prized guns and knives. Most importantly, Wade’s katanas glinted in a corner, reflecting the moon. Regenerating from being exploded was a bitch. Wade had nearly forgotten how long it took.

Now that he had piled his weapons in the middle of the roof, the most pressing issue remaining was his suit -- or the lack thereof. Wade could survive being blown up, but his leather suit? Not so much. A few fragments were all that remained.

He couldn’t stroll downtown in the nude with muscle, blood, and bones still visible between patches of skin.

{Welll…}

[No.]

{But it’s night, though. Swoosh through the dark like Batman.}

[He’s not in this story.]

“We don’t want to scar people who are just trying to make an emergency grocery trip.”

{It’s not like they could get any more scarred than you are, big guy.}

Wade grabbed onto the side of the building and swung himself into a window. There was a smoldering sheet on a charred bed frame. This must have been an apartment building or a hotel. The sheet was still in one piece and was covered with webs.

{*Gasp.* Spidey was here.}

[No shit, Sherlock.]

Wade wrapped the fabric over himself, webbed side out. He didn’t want to skin himself later just to undress, as delightful as that sounded. He tucked the fabric carefully until it covered most of him.

[That’s the best we’re gonna get.]

Wade pulled a pillowcase over his head. Holes had already burned through it, providing a narrow range of vision and space to breathe. He climbed back up to the roof and piled his weapons into his arms.

“That should do it.”

\---

They made it home with only a few interactions, all of which were rife with fear or disgust.

[Or both.]

Wade unwound the sheet and changed into a backup suit. His skin had finished healing, and the scars were back. Wade tugged the mask over his head and sat down on his couch, pulling his Hello Kitty blanket over his legs.

“Time to get started on our job.”

{I can’t believe we’re getting paid to watch Spider-Man. That’s like a dream come true.}

Wade rolled his head, relishing in the pops and cracks of his joints. He flipped open his laptop. As Wade scrolled through dozens of articles and internet posts, he collected the data onto a map, marking locations. The points were concentrated in an elliptical shape in Queens.

The client didn’t want Wade to take out Spider-Man, they had only asked for information regarding his powers -- strengths, weaknesses, all that shit -- and any dirt that Wade could find on the guy.

The public was largely split in their reception of Spidey. Some revered him as a godlike hero while others viewed him as a pompous vigilante who thought he was above the law.

Wade figured the client wanted to expose Spider-Man as the latter, but what Wade was at a loss to explain was what exactly the exposure would do. He guessed that the client was gunning to fill an open slot that would be left behind after the public fallout or that they planned to try to off Spidey on their own in order to reach hero status. Taking down a perceived villain tended to elevate a super in the public’s eyes.

All that mattered to Wade was the price tag for this job.

{2 million buckaroos, baby! That’s right. We’re about to be positively rolling in dough.}

[We’ve made more for jobs before.]

{Sure, but, to reiterate, we are getting _paid_ to watch dat fine ass.}

Wade didn’t really give a shit if the client thought they could take down Spidey. He knew enough to have confidence in Spidey’s ability to take care of himself.

{I would _love_ to take care of him. Bet he’s never felt care like ours, if you know what I mean.}

[I don’t even want to know.]

“Hell yeah, Yellow. What’s work without a bit of pleasure?”

{*Sigh.* You get me.}

“On that note, I need a drink.”

[I doubt you'd go for a classy red wine?]

{When have Deadpool and classy ever gone together?}

"Not today, White. I'm looking for something a little stronger."

[It's not like it'll affect you, no matter how strong it is.]

"It's the spirit of the thing."

\---

Mercenaries swarmed through Sister Margaret’s. The stench of sweat hung in the air, permeating the environment. Weapons crept into view from every nook and cranny. More weapons were hidden, held close. 

When Wade danced in to Yellow singing Cherry Bomb, a thin path cleared between mercs. Heads turned ever-so-slightly, eyes peering from behind glass bottles and through narrowed eyelids. 

{♪ _Hello, daddy. Hello, mom. I’m your ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! ♪}_

Wade grinned, nodding his head toward mercs he recognized. He was legendary here. He belonged here. 

No one nodded back.

“Hey, Weas! Hit me with your best shot.”

Weasel grabbed the cheapest bottle of whiskey and poured two shots with practiced motions. “Why so happy today? You kill someone?”

Wade rolled his eyes. “This shit is your best shot?”

“I’d never waste the good drinks on you. You can’t get drunk, and you never pay. You just waltz in and drink me out of business.”

“I am the business. Speaking of, what have you got for me? I finished the thing in Winnipeg.” Wade slid onto a stool, downing the shot and pushing his glass to Weasel for another.

“I thought you were already working on something. You wouldn’t shut up about Spider-Man and becoming frenemies or some stupid shit.” Weasel poured another shot, shaking his head.

“Yeah, because we are. I’m looking for a side gig. Preferably a quickie in New York somewhere. Gotta stay nearby to keep an eye on Spidey.”

{I’ve got my eye on him.}

[Pervert.]

{Asshole.}

“I do have something involving a drug lord if you’re interested.”

“Drug jobs aren’t really my thing, Weas, you know that.”

Weasel raised his hands, palm out. “You asked me for a job. This is all I got right now.” He poured gin into a glass and took a sip. “Besides, it pays.”

{Oh, so he gets the good stuff but not us?}

“Fine, I’ll take it. Send me the info? M’kay, thanks, bye.” Wade hopped off the barstool, gliding between muscled bodies and sharp knives to reach the exit.

{I expected more drinking, tbh.}

[Are we finally exercising restraint? That’s boring.]

{You would know about boring.}

“Time to find our favorite bug.”

[Your favorite, not mine.]

\---

Wade perched on a roof, peering down at a mugger holding a knife in front of a guy who had his phone pulled out.

“His stance isn’t even good. I hate to see a decrease in the quality of muggings.”

{Makes it lose all sense of mystery. What’s going to happen next? Oh, we already know ‘cause this moron’s gripping the knife wrong and his feet are barely spread a centimeter apart.}

Wade nodded. He didn’t want to interfere unless absolutely necessary. This alley was well within the Spidey Hotspot, so Wade was hoping to watch the fight without engaging for once.

[I still don’t see why we can’t just pop in for a quick maiming.]

{Just a small flick of the knife to a tibial artery. Watch the blood flow for a moment. It’d be nice.}

“You’ll have to get your kicks somewhere else. We’re waiting for Spidey.”

On cue, the webslinger swung into frame. He perched on a lower roof across the alley from Wade. He jumped down headfirst, falling into a roll behind the mugger. “That’s poor form in more than one way, dude.” Spidey crossed his arms and tilted his head, as if disappointed.

{omg, that’s what we said!}

The mugger turned around with wide eyes, stumbling back a step. “Spider-Man?” His voice was weak and trembled.

[Pathetic.]

“Please, try to contain your excitement. It’s overwhelming.” The knife was suddenly in Spidey’s hand.

{That was a web. Take note.}

[Obviously it was a web, Yellow. He did the same thing to us.]

Wade sighed wistfully. “We lost one of my favorite guns in that fight. A Shakespearean tragedy.”

Spider-Man tilted his head towards Wade’s roof.

{Shit.}

[You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut, Wade.]

He tucked himself lower to the rooftop, ducking his head. He heard grunts and soft thwips from the alley.

“Sorry to leave you hanging, but I have somewhere to be.”

Wade lifted his head slightly. The mugger was webbed to the wall upside down. He snickered. “What a dork.”

Spider-Man was back on the rooftops, jumping across buildings toward an unknown location.

[Hey, Wade. Target practice.]

Wade shot the mugger in the kneecap. “Learn how to hold a fucking knife.”

\---

Spidey had swung to a park filled with tourists taking in the lights of the city.

{I think you meant ‘sights.’}

[The lights are nice, too.]

{True. Got that cool late evening vibe to it that you just can’t beat.}

Wade found a new perch and sat back on his ankles. The smell of vomit was strong, even in the open air.

Spidey swung from building to building, his movements slowed. He would let go of a string of web and fall, catching himself just above people’s heads. It was almost like he was putting on a show for the tourists.

The show ended too soon, in Wade’s opinion, and Spidey was back to crime-fighting. Most of two hours was spent with him sitting on roofs looking for activity. He stopped a couple robberies and helped a lost kid get home. He even saved a fucking cat from a tree.

{I guess that’s what makes him Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.}

After setting the cat down on the pavement, Spidey swung back up between buildings. He made a few turns before landing on a roof bordering a shady alley. He crawled down the wall and into the alley. It was too dark there to see anything more than a fuzzy shadow of Spidey crawling around.

He reached behind his back and pulled at something. Then he started wiggling the fabric off. He stopped abruptly, turning around frantically. After a moment, he resumed taking of the costume.

Wade turned away.

{Nooo, why? He was putting on a show just for us.}

“It wasn’t for us.”

[Yellow, you’re disgusting.]

Wade jumped off his roof, stumbling along the street as his bones ground back into place.

[You know you’re just like the creep in Winnipeg, Wade.]

“What?”

[Following someone? Finding out information about them? Watching them while they’re unaware of your presence? You’re as disgusting as Yellow.]

{Fuck you.}

Wade winced. He knew. The thought made his stomach turn violently. “It’s different.”

[How the fuck is this any different? You’re getting paid to creep?]

“I’m not hurting anyone.” Wade rubbed his arms, walking up the stairs to his apartment. “I left so that I wouldn’t know his secret identity. I’m not trying to get his private info or shit like that.”

[No, you’re just looking for weaknesses to exploit because that’s _so_ much better.]

“I would never exploit them.”

[You’re giving them to someone who will. I don’t see a difference.]

{We already knew you’re fucked up, Wade, but this is a whole new level. You’re taking advantage of our favorite bug in spandex.}

“Don’t say it like that. Spidey can take care of himself.”

[You’re determined to make that difficult for him, though.]

{This is why nobody loves us.}

[You aren’t any better than the people you unalive. You’re just too stupid to actually see it.]

{You let them kill Vanessa. You’ll let them kill Spidey, too.}

“Shut up.” Wade was clutching his head in his hands. He fell onto his bed and curled into fetal position, his hands pressed against his ears.

{Everyone would be safer without you. You’re a monster.}

[Sleep, Wade.]

White’s voice lulled Wade as he pulled out a gun. He tasted steel and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> Another one should be on its way soon, but I am going to be traveling this week.
> 
> Next chapter: Spidey and DP finally meet (officially), date with Kat part two, Enter Tony Stark
> 
> Sincerely yours,  
> Kenwick


	4. A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, drug use

The past week had left Peter constantly on edge until he was frazzled, fraying at the edges. His spidey sense had been a ceaseless hum, warning him to be cautious. The feeling swelled during patrols and waned in between.

The first night it happened, Peter assumed it was for the mugger he was fighting, but then he heard a voice above him. He had looked to find its source but saw nothing. Due to the warning, he had taken off his suit in the darkest alley he could find, planning to sneak through the 24-hour convenience store attached to the alley. He was desperate to avoid leading the threat to his home. Once he began changing out of his suit, the warning dulled.

This had happened once before, a couple years prior. The only difference was the sense of danger did not fade at any time for nearly a month. When it finally stopped and had not returned since, he had hoped it was a fluke but thought it was more likely that someone had been watching him.

He would have thought someone was watching him now if not for the regular fluctuations in his senses. Why would someone watch him as Spider-Man only to look away before he switched back to his civilian identity? He could only assume he was on edge because of his work for the _Daily Bugle_. No matter how he tried to shrug it off and relax, the hum of danger stayed.

The bizarre pattern and constant unease left Peter a mess. He decided to take a night off since he had another date with Kat the next day. He was determined to keep Spider-Man out of their date this time.

They had talked a couple times since their first date was cut short. Peter had suggested they meet at a tea shop between where they lived after he learned that Kat loved tea. The shop happened to be right next to the _Daily Bugle_. That was a lovely anti-bonus for the location. Still, they served excellent tea.

Peter was looking forward to seeing Kat again. The more they talked, the more he found they had in common. It had been a long time since he had a chance to grow closer to someone, and he felt the temptation to rush in now. He forced himself to hold back, to move forward carefully. Every time they spoke put Kat in the way of danger. He couldn’t let someone else get hurt because of him.

His secret identity remained well-protected. After the incident with Aunt May, Tony Stark, working with S.H.I.E.L.D., managed to tie up the connections between Peter and Spider-Man to avoid future problems. The person who had gone after May was in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody and didn’t have any opportunity to speak to interviewers or anyone else about what they had learned.

So, albeit cautiously, Peter was ready to move forward with his life. He wanted more than a day job he hated and the pressure of being Spider-Man. He loved helping people, but he longed for a break, some relief from the constant stress.

Settling into bed, he crossed his fingers that his date with Kat would be the first step forward in a bright new beginning.

\---

A spike in his senses woke him up. He heard the thump of someone running above him and cursed the people who lived above him. Even after Peter learned how to manage his powers and his enhanced hearing, every little sound of the people living around him could reach him. The thumps above him faded, but his senses insisted something was wrong. Rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand, he rolled out of bed. Since he had night vision from the spider bite, he didn’t bother to turn on the lights while he pulled on his suit.

He crawled out the window into the early, starry morning. He paused on the wall, crouching next to his neighbors’ window. He heard light snoring from inside the room. His senses screamed bloody murder.

“What do you want from me?” he hissed.

The roof of Peter’s apartment building was flat and covered in bird poop, like most roofs in the city. There was no one in sight, but his spidey senses continued blaring. He jumped to the next roof in the direction he heard the footsteps running. The crisp Autumn air rushed past him, numbing his extremities. He turned on the heater he had built into his suit.

He shot a web at a building across the street to find a better view, but it fell short. His web shooters still sat in the bottom of his nightstand’s drawer, forgotten in his sleepy haze. Without them, he only had one type of webbing and could not propel them nearly as far.

Sighing, he walked backwards on the roof. He crouched down and raced forward, pushing off when he reached the lip of the building. For a moment, he was flying, powerful and free. Then the moment ended, and he was falling toward rough bricks and metal bars. His nose bashed into the unforgiving wall, and his knees ground against the rough gap between bricks. He grasped at the surface with his fingers, catching himself before he slipped. In his panic, his fingertips had pushed through the wall, creating holds.

A voice from below startled him. “That’s not fair. He deserves a four, at least, for that amazing save. How does the Amazing Spider-Man do it? The world may never know.” 

The person below Peter giggled, and he groaned, resting his forehead against the wall.

“Oh, damn. That makes two of us.” The person continued his disjointed conversation, and Peter realized who was below him. Angling his head, he saw a telltale flash of red.

Peter flipped backward off the building, landing behind the person who stabbed him a week prior. “What do you want?”

The man put his head in a cupped hand. “I don’t think he’ll go for that.” He snapped his fingers, white eyes widening as Peter’s spidey sense buzzed. “There we go! Finally some action.” He ran into the alley next to them.

Peter followed closely.

“Hey! Who’s your boss?” The man was yelling down the alley, still running.

Peter’s Spidey sense blared, and he shot a web reflexively, realizing afterward that he had aimed toward a knife sailing through the air. The thin strand of web drifted through air, dancing toward the ground. Right. No web shooters.

Peter adapted, slamming the red-suit man into the wall. “What are you -- some kind of misguided ‘hero?’”

He wriggled his arm, and Peter loosened his hold when his senses didn’t go off.

The man slipped a card into Peter’s hand. “Deadpool, aka Merc with a Mouth, available for hire -- in the streets or in the sheets.” He jutted his hips up, and Peter took a step back, crinkling his nose. He saw the side of his mask stretched out in a grin.

“So you’re a mercenary prostitute?”

“The sheets option was just for you, babe. Call me.” He was giggling again, but he abruptly stopped. “It totally was. Let me handle this.”

Peter squinted and tilted his head. The other person in the alley was slowed by the knife but Peter saw that he was crawling out of the alley. Without the web shooters, it would take too long to adequately secure Deadpool to the wall while he dealt with the unknown person. He pushed a finger against Deadpool’s chest. “Stay here.” He ran down the alley, jumping over the person crawling along the filthy asphalt. 

He peered up at Peter between sweaty locks of hair. His brown irises were nearly drowned in the black of his pupils. The corners of his lips were pulled up, crinkling the skin on the side of his face.

“Are you okay?” Peter leaned down, reaching a hand out to offer help. When he grasped his hand, Peter moved a finger to his wrist to check his pulse. It was elevated. He scanned the alley, finding a small white bag against the wall.

“Let me handle this, Spidey. I already have dibs anyway.” Deadpool had walked down the alley to stand behind Peter. He pulled the knife out of the person’s leg. Peter winced at the choked scream.

He webbed over the wound. “You can’t have dibs. He’s high, and losing blood, and needs help. What could you possibly want with him anyway?” Peter stuck his head out of the alley, checking which street they were on. There was a hospital a couple blocks away and a recovery center a bit farther. Lifting the person onto his back gingerly, he planned his route to the hospital.

“ _They_ owe me information. Also, I know. I saw them doing the fucking drugs. It’s only better for me if they’re a bit -- you know.” He waved a hand. “uninhibited.” He leaned over Peter’s shoulder, leering into the person’s face. “Besides. We’re old pals. They won’t mind catching up over a drink.” He moved a hand to reach behind his back, but Peter grabbed it, feeling the bones strain in his grip. Deadpool glared at him.

“Based on the knife to the leg while they were running from you, I’m gonna make a wild guess that you’re not actually the _pals_ you claim to be. You can get out of here now, or you can waste more of my time trying to stop me.” Peter tightened his grip, stopping before he reached the required force to break a wrist.

“But if he said it like that, it would be much more cliché. That’s not even a question.”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Fine, fine. Take them to the hospital. I have other leads.” Somehow, Peter could tell that Deadpool was rolling his eyes through his mask.

Peter did not want to deal with this tonight -- not when he had a date in a few hours and was without his web shooters. He lowered the person on his back against the wall, letting go of Deadpool’s wrist. He couldn’t let this guy keep torturing and killing people.

He dropped onto his arms, swinging his leg in a low arc. Deadpool jumped over his leg, pulling out a gun. Peter knocked the gun out of his hands and lunged forward toward his shoulder.

They fought in a flurry of dodges and strikes. Peter was containing his strength to avoid seriously harming Deadpool, but he had learned how to fight before he created the advanced web shooters he currently used. He also had the advantage of his spidey sense.

Amidst the barrage of attacks from both parties, Peter shot webbing into his hand. His senses alerted him to a fist rushing toward his head, and he turned mid-jump to grab the fist. The webbing in his hand stuck to Deadpool’s red suit. He used the momentum from his jump to bring Deadpool’s fist to the ground where it stuck.

He shot more webs onto Deadpool’s elbow, sticking that to the ground in case the gloves slipped off easily. Eying his work, Peter noted that he had managed to stick him in a position where he could not cut through the webbing without cutting a good portion of his sleeve -- or his arm -- off. That should keep him there long enough for the police to handle things.

“Shit. Not again.” Deadpool pulled out a gun with his free hand, but Peter was near enough to awkwardly web it away. He began mental plans for a suit with basic built-in web shooters in case this happened again.

Deadpool was already reaching down for another weapon. Peter grabbed his arm, pulled a strand of web, and threaded his arm to the ground using a criss-cross pattern. He double-checked his hands for any hidden weapons that he might use to escape again before pulling out his burner phone to dial the police.

He let them know where Deadpool was, but he didn’t mention the person who he had attacked in the alley. Once he finished the call, he walked back over, finding them huddled in a corner. Their eyes shot back and forth, and their body was shaking.

Peter gave a wave and sat down. “Hey there. It’s all going to be okay. I’m going to get you help.” Peter reached a hand out, like before. “Can I give you a ride somewhere safe?”

The person eyed his outstretched hand. “Where’re you gonna take me?”

“I can take you to a hospital or recovery center where you can get help. I could also get you home, but you really should do something about your leg. I think a hospital is your best bet.”

“I’ll handle it. I know the way from here.” They tried to stand up but crumpled back to the floor. They clutched their stomach.

“What all did you take?” He heard scuffling behind him and turned around to check on Deadpool. To his surprise, he had disappeared. That explained the silence from the normally talkative guy. Wailing sirens were growing louder, nearing the alley.

“Sorry, but we have to go now. I don’t think either of us want to deal with the cops right now.” Peter tossed the person onto his back and rushed up the building. “Hope you don’t have a fear of heights.”

\---

By the time Peter had talked to the person, learned their name and small pieces of their story, and taken them to the hospital, the sun had risen over the city.

Peter flopped into his room without bothering to change out of suit beforehand like he had been doing. His spidey sense had finally left him alone. He would have been more grateful if it had actually resulted in a restful night.

Glancing at the clock, he relaxed. He still had a couple hours before he had to get ready. He crawled into bed, setting an alarm on his phone.

He woke up groggy and starving. Using his organic webs instead of his synthetic ones had drained him. He grabbed a protein bar from his kitchen and stuffed it into his mouth while he pulled on pants and a shirt. He used his fingers to comb some gel through his untameable hair and grabbed a coat on his way out.

The walk to the shop was short with Peter’s brisk pace. He wasted no time in the cold. Stepping into the shop, he recognized Kat’s purplish dark hair. She sat in a chair facing away from him. He grinned and walked over, sliding into the seat across from her. “Hey. It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too. I hope you don’t mind I already ordered.” She smiled hesitantly. 

Peter noticed the steaming cup below her. “Oh. No, that’s fine. It’s cold out there. I get it.” He shuffled in his seat, knee bumping the table. Kat’s cup wobbled in the saucer, and the tea sloshed over the sides.

Peter blushed, sopping up the liquid with a napkin. “I’m so sorry. I just -- the table was -- I’m sorry.”

Kat was laughing, and Peter stopped his movements. Her teeth were a dazzling white, the corners of her eyes crinkled in delight. “It’s fine. You could have just told me that you wanted to order together instead of causing all this commotion.”

Peter laughed, his heart pounding. “I am sorry. Do you want to order another one?”

“I still have plenty. Really, it’s totally good.”

He leaned back in his chair, dropping the napkin. When the server came by, he ordered a hibiscus tea. 

Kat told him about her research with white shrimp populations, and Peter shot forward question after question, eager to learn more about a branch of science he had little experience in.

They ordered another round of teas to sip on while enjoying the easy conversation. They slipped into topics of molecular biology, and Peter shared his research into mutations as customers began streaming into the shop for a light lunch.

Peter broke from his trance when a couple sat down at the table next to them. He glanced at Kat who was checking her watch, her mouth open in surprise. “I have to get to work, Peter, but we should do this again soon.”

“Definitely.”

They both stood up, and Kat stepped forward, kissing him lightly. She smiled and wound between tables to the exit. Peter stood at their table, grinning. Things were finally looking up.

\---

The next day, Spider-Man received a call from Tony Stark’s secretary.

“Hello, Mr. Spider-Man. This is Renée, Tony Stark’s assistant. Mr. Stark has requested to see you at your earliest convenience. Could I set up an appointment for this afternoon?”

“Uh, sure? I mean, yes, that will be fine. I can be there at 3:00.” Peter rubbed his neck, wondering why Tony wanted to see him. They hadn’t talked at all in a few months.

“He is busy then. We will expect you at 2:15. Thank you!” She ended the call.

“So much for ‘earliest convenience.’”

He webbed to the tower to save time and arrived at 2:21. He climbed up to the room he used to meet Tony in, assuming he would be expected there.

The window was left open, and he crawled in, resisting the urge to climb to the ceiling. He walked to the middle of the room where Tony stood, looking at a large screen.

“Hey, kid. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

Tony turned to Peter and clicked a button on a remote. He sighed. “I know you don’t want to be an official Avenger or be involved in our missions. What I’m asking for is a favor.”

Peter nodded. Tony had asked him to join the Avengers when he was 19, but he had turned him down in favor of staying a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. As a kid, he had admired what the Avengers did for people. The more he grew up, the more he saw the other side of them. They were judgemental and self-righteous, too concerned with the bigger plan to worry about the individuals involved, and he wanted no part in it. He still hung out with them from time to time, but he rarely worked with them.

Tony pulled off his sunglasses, signaling a seriousness that Peter rarely saw from him. “There’s someone in the city who is a bit. . . unstable. He is a remorseless killer, and we have no idea what he’s after or why he’s here.”

Peter squinted in his mask. Why had he not heard anything about this? “Who are we talking about? A super?”

Tony motioned to the screen, clicking another button. “His name is Deadpool. He is a highly-trained mercenary, and, yes, a mutate.” The red suit with white eyes in blurry motion showed up on the screen, and Peter recognized the man who had just that week introduced himself to Peter.

“Do you know what his powers are?” Peter took a step forward, but it was unnecessary. The screen must have been 120 inches. He didn’t want to give any information he had about Deadpool to Tony until he more fully understood the situation. 

“From our sources, all we know is that he has a powerful healing factor. There could be more -- strength, agility, the like -- but nothing confirmed.”

Peter nodded. “So you want me to. . . what? Keep an eye on him?”

“Jarvis is already looking for him, and I’ll be going out, too, but we could always use extra hands.” Tony changed the picture on the screen to a clearer image. In this one, Deadpool was leveling a gun at an unseen target, his eyes white slits. His arms and shoulders were tense, flexed in his leather suit. His knees were bent slightly, solidifying his stance.

Peter stepped back.

“If you find him, just give us a call. That’s all I’m asking. We'll take care of the rest. You know this city like the back of your hand, kid. You can find him.” Tony raised a hand to set it on Peter's shoulder but hesitated before pulling it back. “He was already seen entering a building that blew up, injuring three people. We need to lock him up for the good of the city.”

Peter faced Tony, his jaw clenched. “I’ll find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again.
> 
> This chapter was a rollercoaster for me to write, but here we are.
> 
> A little clarification on Peter's webs in this story: he has organic webs, but he doesn't typically use them because they take a lot of nutrition to create and it drains him to use them. He has web shooters with different formulas he created for webbing, and that improves his abilities and gives him more options.
> 
> Next chapter: Wade's side gig, more sneaky Wade, a surprise encounter.
> 
> Wishing you all the best,  
> Kenwick


	5. Pancakes and Peaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

“Shit. Not again.”

{You’ve gotta stop getting yourself in these sticky situations. . . lol.}

He pulled a gun out with his left hand, aiming next to Spidey’s arm, but he knocked it out of his grasp as Wade’s finger squeezed the trigger. The shot didn’t fire. Time for plan B: escape.

{Coward. I demand a blood sacrifice.}

[I’m confused. What was plan A?]

{Fight off Spidey and get our pal to answer some questions.}

Wade reached toward his boot for a knife to cut the webs, but a hand pinned his arm to the ground. He felt feather-light touches up and down his forearm. He tried to lift his arm, but Spidey’s grip held.

[Add super strength to your list.]

The touch receded, but now webs restrained both his arms. He growled and kicked up at Spidey who hopped to the side. He grabbed Wade’s hand, pulling his fingers to force his fist open and patting down his sleeve. He repeated the process on the other sleeve.

{Fuck yeah. Touch us, Spidey.}

Wade froze. Spider-Man was firm but careful with his motions, and Wade began to relax into the gentle touches. Then the hands left, and Wade watched him pull out a phone. That snapped him out of his daze.

{The po-po are a major no-no.}

He tested the strength of the webs, but they didn’t give. Spider-Man rattled off the location into his phone and said something about a ‘dangerous criminal.’

[Considering present company, safe bet it’s us.]

{Howie’s technically a criminal, too, but they’d never hurt a fly. We’ve got them beat on the dangerous front.}

“Speaking of. . .” Wade muttered. Spidey was kneeling in front of Howie, speaking too quietly for Wade to discern any words.

Stretching a leg up to where his hand was pinned down, he wriggled a knife out of his boot and twisted it in his palm to cut through the strands of web. The webs snapped easily against the blade. With one arm free, he turned to the other. This one was webbed underneath the suit where he couldn’t reach without cutting a chunk of his arm off.

“Damn it. Second suit this week.” He cut the leather around his shoulder, small nicks healing over as he pulled his arm out of the sleeve. Once free, he cut a patch out of the sleeve to release it from the ground. He could sew it back on later.

Stepping lightly, he walked partway down the alley to retrieve the gun Spidey had so rudely kicked away. He checked the remaining ammo and stuffed it in his suit.

As sirens wailed, Wade ran out of the alley.

\---

The quickie Weasel had set him up with was not turning out to be so quick.

[You really did not have to put it that way.]

{Gotta stay consistent for the readers. Keep it up, big guy.}

After Wade lost Howie, he couldn’t pin down their location again for a full week. When he did end up cornering them, they didn’t know anything about their seller. They were also acting fidgety and had a bluish-grey tint to their skin. Wade decided to keep tabs on them, both to make sure they were alright and in hopes of tracing them back to the source. So far, he had nothing else to go on for the drug job.

To make matters worse, he only managed to trace Spidey a couple nights that week. He still had nothing on him besides webs and strength. Everyone knew those things anyway. Getting dirt on him seemed to be even more of a dead-end than info about his powers. He was the kind of super who stopped to help kids find their parents and gave a hand to grandparents crossing the street and bringing up groceries. 

It was one of the reasons Wade admired the hero (the other reasons being his ass and his sass), but it was making his job difficult. He hoped this night’s patrol would be more fruitful.

{Fruit, you say? I’m always up for a plump peach. And when I say up, I do mean my --}

[Don't finish that.]

{Dick.} 

Wade tucked a couple extra knives into his suit, as well as a pair of binoculars.

[But you’re _totally_ not a stalker.]

He was on his way to the Spider Zone when he saw a kid sitting on the sidewalk, sniffling. They had stuffed their thumb into their mouth and seemed to be chewing on it.

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Wade knelt down in front of the kid, reaching into his pouch for the stuffed unicorn he carried with him. He held it out, hoping it would occupy the kid’s hands. She reached out with both hands, thank fuck, and squeezed the plushie. Sniffling again, she wiped it against her face and sighed.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” 

She hiccuped. “I want mommy.”

Wade let out a breath. He could do this.

{We just need to channel our inner Spidey.}

[We are nothing like Spidey. He saves people, we unalive them.]

{We unalive people _to_ save people.}

“Do you know where she is?”

[What kind of dumb-ass question is that? Would she be here, alone at night on the street, if she knew where her mother is?]

“I’m trying here. Shut up and let me handle it.”

The girl was staring at him with wide eyes. His plushie was still squished against her face, but now her thumb was back in her mouth, which hung open.

“Sorry.” Wade sat down with crossed legs. “Where did you last see her?”

The kid pointed into the bakery behind them. Tears began falling down her face. “There was a loud sound, and mommy telled me to leave. A lot of angry people scared her.” Her breaths became short and irregular as she spoke.

“Hey, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You can just sit here and watch my pet unicorn for me, and I’ll go get mommy. I’ll bring her out here to see you, yeah?” Wade nodded at the kid, and she returned the gesture. “Perfect. Give me just a second.”

Wade waited until he was around the corner and through the door before he drew his weapons. He gripped a katana in one hand and a gun in the other as he approached the door to the back room. Muffled voices reached his ears. That’s one, three, four. . . Fuck it. Time to make a scene. 

He kicked down the door and shot a bullet in the air. “Knock knock. Honey, I’m home.”

Half a dozen guns turned to him. Bullets plowed through his chest, spraying blood and guts onto the wall behind him. A woman ran toward him with a machete.

[Who brings a machete to a gunfight?]

She swung it down smoothly while Wade sidestepped, then she spun back, pulling her machete up. Wade’s arm thumped to the ground. 

“You know, you could have just asked me for a hand.” Wade shoved his gun into her stomach and pulled the trigger. He rolled backward to avoid a couple bullets headed his way, ending in a kneel. Lining up a shot, he pulled the trigger and smiled. “Twofer.”

Someone was behind him with a gun, but he swung his leg out, knocking the guy over and out. 

{Roger that.}

He held up a hand as a throwing knife sailed toward him. The blade slid through his palm. Pulling it out with a squelch, he threw it back to the owner. She fell to the ground wailing.

{Crybaby.}

One gremlin remained. Wade twirled away from a bullet and shot back one of his own, watching the man’s chest spew red.

{♪ _Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. ♪_ }

Wade scanned the room, finding no one except the group he had just unalived. “Hello? Hate to intrude, but I’m looking for a Ms. Mommy, bakery owner -- or maybe an employee?”

He heard a muffled whimper from behind a door.

{And Bingo was his name-o.}

Wade pulled open the door, finding a storage closet and a woman curled behind a tub of flour. When their eyes met, she stood up, spine straight and jaw set, but arms trembling. “Don’t hurt her.” Her eyes were cold and piercing.

“What? Oh -- no, I wasn’t -- I found her outside, and she told me what happened. I wanted to make sure you got back to her okay. I’m not gonna hurt a kid. Fuck.” Wade holstered his gun.

The woman was still tensed, but the trembling had stopped. She released a breath slowly, her shoulders dropping. She took a testing step forward, not breaking eye-contact. Wade stepped to the side, sweeping an arm out to the side to gesture that she could pass.

She dashed for the door, halting for a moment a few strides past Wade. “Thank you.” She hurried the rest of the way out, not looking back.

After grabbing his arm and katana from the back room, Wade left the store and continued his march toward the Spider Zone.

\---

It took Wade three hours, but he found Spidey. He appeared to be done with his patrol for the night and was sitting on the edge of a roof, swinging his legs and looking at something in his hands.

Wade’s arm was fully reattached now, so he grabbed his binoculars with both hands and settled into his spot with his notebook in his lap.

{He’s making a list. He’s checking it twice.}

The object in Spidey’s hands was a camera. The screen was blocked by his shoulder, so Wade made his way to another roof and looked again. He was scrolling through pictures of himself. They were various action shots, some close up, and some from a distance.

{Do you think we could get our hands on some of those?}

Wade scribbled a note onto the page about the pictures. When he looked back up, Spidey was flipping through the air between two buildings, and the camera was webbed to a wall. He moved through the air with grace and control, lining up his body to find the best position for the camera. He yanked down on a strand of web, launching up into the air so he was soaring, arms stretched in front of him. He was beautiful.

{Buttiful.}

Wade watched for another half hour, but there was no progression. He packed his stuff into his pouches and jumped off the roof. His legs crunched with the landing, but he was walking normally a block later.

\---

When he got home, the fridge was empty and so was his stomach.

Wade changed out of his Deadpool suit and into civvies. He cleaned his weapons methodically and returned them to their places in a spare bedroom, exchanging them for ones he stuffed into secure places under his loose clothing. He yanked on gloves and tugged his hood over his head.

On his way out the door, he grabbed his keys and the Hello Kitty bag he used for his groceries. The door clicked closed behind him, and he shuffled down the stairs.

{Can we get maple syrup while we’re there?}

[Let’s not. The Maple Syrup Incident is why we can’t go to Speedy Grocer in our Deadpool mask anymore. Another incident in our civilian attire would mean we can’t go at all.]

{Ooooh, tell them the story. I like this one.}

Wade grinned. A year or so earlier, he had bought the cheap off-brand maple syrup and poured it over himself to see how sticky he could get. He was going to start with something simple, like sticking a postcard to his hand. The ultimate test would have been to find out if he could climb walls.

[That would so obviously not work.]

{I bet it would have worked with genuine Canadian maple syrup, but big guy had to be a cheap fucker and get the off-brand shit.}

“And it would have felt so much nicer flowing over the suit. Can you imagine? Literally dripping Canada.” He sighed wistfully.

[If you had the patience to wait for ten fucking minutes until we were outside the store to pour that stuff all over yourself, we would still be able to wear a mask to go shopping.]

{We should just get one of those ski mask things to do the shopping in. You know the one. It’s like all black with a few holes for your eyes, maybe one for our mouth.}

[Surely you can see why that’s a bad idea.]

A bell jingled, signaling Wade’s entry to the small grocery store. The place was empty except for the cashier.

{Plug in some tunes. I’m bored.}

[I thought you always made the tunes.]

{And I would, but I need to rest my instrument.}

[Yeah, your instrument of torture.]

Wade popped in his earbuds and swayed along to “My Heart Will Go On” as he grabbed peaches to put in his cart. He picked up stuff to replenish some of the staples: flour, butter, milk, lube, eggs, and syrup. He wasn’t going to buy that last one -- he really wasn’t -- but they had the _actual_ good stuff from Canada.

{Can’t say no to that.}

He laid it in his cart with care and rolled to the check out lane, one foot on the cart and one stuck out behind him, as the song crescendoed. He piled his items on the rubber moving thing --

[It’s called a conveyor belt.]

\-- as the music switched to The Pina Colada Song. Wade bobbed his head, pulling his wallet out.

[This is a shitty soundtrack.]

{I agree. Let’s go back to Fergalicious.}

[. . . Never mind. This is fine.]

The cashier was a teenager with red streaks in her hair. She was smacking gum as she slid Wade’s groceries through the scanner and into his bag. “That’ll be $32.86.”

Wade pulled out a $50 bill, glancing out the window. There was a guy in a hoodie walking down the street toward the shop while looking at his phone. A larger person was following a few paces behind him, also in a hoodie, hands stuffed in his pocket.

Wade slapped the cash on the counter. “Keep the change.” The bell clanged on his way out.

He reached into his sweatpants for a knife.

[Wait. There’s an easier way to go about this.]

{Aw, you’re no fun.}

He stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the smaller guy, who crashed into him, phone clattering to the ground.

“Hey, man! Long time no see. How’ve you been?” Deadpool kept his hood low but hoped his voice sounded friendly.

The guys held his hands in front of him, now empty. He looked up at Wade with wide eyes that thinned in confusion upon seeing his hooded face. “Uh, hi?”

Wade shot a glance behind him, noting that the other person had stopped and was leaning against Speedy Grocer. He returned his gaze to the guy in front of him and tensed.

[What are the odds?]

{Apparently, they’re _ever_ in our favor.}

Wade recognized floppy brown hair peeking out from a familiar red hoodie. It was the kid from chapter one.

[A brief reminder that we are currently out of suit.]

{Ugh, if only.}

[What?]

Wade muttered, “Play along,” to the guy then continued louder, “Yeah! It’s been ages. I thought you ghosted me, dude. We should catch up. Where you headed? Doesn’t matter. Not like I have anywhere to be on Fridays anymore. Thanks for that. Anywho, I’ll tag along. If you don’t mind?”

[You’re really trying to live up to the “with a mouth” bit there aren’t you.]

{I could think of another way to live up to it.}

[Why must we share the same brain space?]

{We should get some dividers for the room. Some nice ones with flowers.}

The guy eyed Wade’s dark hoodie, sweatpants, and gloves, taking a step back. His eyes still held the same suspicious squint, so Wade offered a short jerk of his head toward the creep. He lowered his voice again. “You’ve got a tail there, buddy.”

The guy’s mouth fell open, but he at least had the good sense to not turn around. “Oh, yeah. I -- uh -- Good to see you, uh, Ryan. Sorry about, you know. . . Fridays.” He paused, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

{An adorable goldfish.}

He ran a hand through his hair, his hood falling onto his back. “Maybe we could meet up another time? I’m kind of busy.” He lowered his voice, matching Wade’s earlier tone, before continuing. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll handle it.”

Wade clapped his hands, chipper as ever. “Nonsense. No more ghosting from you, buddy.” He took a step back to give the guy extra room but kept an eye on the creep. “If you don’t want me to walk with you, I can just take care of this guy right now for you,” he muttered gruffly.

The person stiffened, turning his head to both sides to check his surroundings.

[Tone it down, Wade. You’re supposed to scare the _other_ guy off.]

Roger that. Wade slouched and brought his arms in, hunching in on himself to appear smaller.

The guy looked more spooked, his eyes widening.

{You look like you have to take a shit. No, wait, like you have explosive diarrhea. That’s it.}

[Pull your hood off. He’ll be running like a cheetah to escape that horror show. Problem solved.]

It had been a couple minutes, but the creep refused to give up. He had settled into his spot and was checking his nails.

The smaller guy -- why couldn’t he remember his name? He had seen it on the camera but didn’t think it would be important -- gave Wade a small nod, his face returning to a semi-normal expression. Grabbing his phone from the ground, he suggested going to Denny’s.

“Sure, man. Pancakes with whipped cream? Sign me up.”

{I want eggs.}

Smiling grimly, the guy began walking forward. “I’m with you there. Pancakes are great.”

He nodded. “Don’t forget the whipped cream.”

{No good cakes without cream, if you know what I mean.}

Wade snorted, which was met with a side glance from the guy. He cleared his throat. “Any chance I can get a name? It doesn’t have to be real, just something to call you.” Wade kept his voice low. The footsteps behind them were light, but he heard them.

[I’d take anything at this point. If I have to see ‘the guy’ one more time, I swear --]

“You can call me Peter.”

{Ahh shit. That’s the real thing. He should _not_ be trusting us with that.}

[To be fair, he doesn’t know we’re Deadpool.]

{We’re a fucked-up face hidden behind a creepy black hood and could probably wrap our hands fully around his waist and snap him like a twig. The suit is just a more leathery, attractive version of the same shitshow.}

Rolling his eyes, Wade realized the silence was stretching on for longer than normal. At least, he thought it wasn’t normal. Not many people wanted to chat with him anymore.

[Don’t flatter yourself. They never did.]

{At least back then we had hair to make up for the shocking lack of any other good qualities.}

Peter was staring at him, and he realized he might have missed a piece of conversation. He turned his head slightly away from Peter as they passed by a lamp. “Sorry, what?”

[Eloquent.]

“Do you have a name? Or should I just keep calling you Ryan?”

“You can call me whatever you want, babe.” He grinned but kept his face turned away.

“Nice to meet you, Whatever You Want Babe.”

“Ugh, that’s such a dad joke, you dork.”

Peter laughed and turned down a street toward the closest Denny’s. They were nearing the building but still in a dark stretch of sidewalk. The footsteps pattered behind them, persistent. Wade’s fist clenched around the handle of his bag. Even if not Peter, this douchewad was still gonna end up hurting someone, and Wade couldn’t let that happen. “Hey, Pete?”

“Hm?”

“You head on to the Denny’s. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.”

Peter blanched. “What are you going to do?” He looked more alert now, seeming to listen to the footsteps as well.

Wade shrugged. “Teach him a lesson.”

{a-duh.}

“That doesn’t seem necessary. Look, I’m fine.”

“The next person might not be. Hell, maybe someone else already wasn’t.” Wade’s jaw clenched. A car whooshed by, splattering rain water on him and his groceries.

{Hey! We’re walkin’ here!}

Dropping his bag, Wade spun around and marched up to the creep. He grabbed the front of his hoodie and lifted him up. He grasped at Wade’s hands, feet scrambling for solid ground and hitting Wade’s shins. 

“Oh, you’re really getting your kicks now. Fun, right?” Wade threw him to the ground and pushed an elbow against his trachea, cutting off the airflow. “Now _that’s_ really fun.” After a moment, he released some of the pressure. Couldn't have him dying too quickly.

{My vote is for a bullet to the kneecap. Or both, I’m not picky.}

“Both it is.” Wade pulled a gun out of his sweatpants.

A gasp interrupted Wade’s moment. “Oh my god. You can’t just kill him.” Peter ran up to his side and tugged on his arm, surprising Wade with his strength. Wade toppled off the creep, who was now coughing and wheezing with a hand held tenderly to their throat.

“I wasn’t going to kill him. You can’t teach a dead person a lesson, you know.” Wade stood up, brushing off his pants. A soft breeze trailed over his neck. 

Wait, what? 

Wade lifted a hand to his head, which was no longer covered by his hood. He jerked it back over his head harshly, feeling the seam strain. Tugging the string to scrunch up the face hole, he turned his head down.

Thankfully, Peter did not seem to have noticed Wade’s struggle. He was distracted with the creep, who had noticed and was now staring at Wade with wide eyes. He gagged and rolled to the side, spewing vomit right next to Wade’s sneakers.

[Works every time.]

{Does that count as a party trick?}

As soon as the creep turned his head back up, Peter swung a fist square into his nose. The guy howled and clutched his face.

Wade’s jaw dropped. “Holy fuck. I think I just came.”

{Same. Getting off on that sweet, sweet violence.}

[There is puke and blood everywhere.]

{Yeah, bodily fluids are just pouring out. What’s hotter than that?}

“Don’t kink-shame me.”

Peter glanced up at Wade with squinted eyes and a scrunched nose but didn’t say anything.

[You two are absolute idiots.]

Grabbing the creep, Peter stood up and dragged him to the wall. He turned back to Wade. “I told you I could handle it.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Any way I could get you to handle me like that?” Wade grinned, jutting out a hip and placing a hand on it.

Peter crossed his arms and looked Wade up and down. “Eh.” He shrugged. “You’re not worth my time.” With a grin, he walked down the sidewalk toward Denny’s.

Wade stood frozen, his hip still out. He watched Peter stride down the sidewalk with wide eyes, eyebrows raised.

[He has spunk. I’ll give him that.]

{I’d take his spunk any day.}

Wade ran after Peter, slowing to a walk beside him. “So you still wanna get pancakes?”

“Don’t forget the whipped cream.” Grinning, Peter looked toward Wade. His smile faltered for a moment when Wade pulled his hood farther down.

Wade gave a dramatic gasp. “I would never.” He tugged open the door to Denny’s, following Peter inside the warm diner. Someone led them to a booth and threw menus onto the table.

While they were still sliding into their seats, Alisha walked up to their table with two glasses of water. Wade winked at her. “Hey, there, sweet stuff. Your lip color is fantastic today. Care to share?”

“Sorry, not impressed by yours today, Wade. I wouldn’t wanna mess all this up at the beginning of my shift.” She smirked, placing their waters on coasters.

Wade fell back in his seat and sighed. “Damn shame.”

“What can I get for you two tonight?”

“Pancakes. So many pancakes. Can I get the chocolate chip ones with the strawberries on them? Ooh, and also blueberry pancakes. I get very blue without my berries.” Wade moaned and placed a hand on his stomach. 

{Eggs, big guy!}

“Oh, yeah. Could I get an order of eggs with that, boo?”

“I’ll see what I can hook you up with.” 

He snapped and pointed finger guns at her. “You’re the best.”

She turned to Peter with a gentle smile. “Anything I can get you?”

He was staring at Wade, and he jumped when she spoke to him. “Oh, yeah. I guess I’ll go with the pancakes and a strawberry milkshake.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the tips of his ears tinged with red.

“Sure thing. I’ll get that right out for you.”

Wade sipped his water as he watched Alisha walk back to the kitchen. There was only one other group in the diner, three girls who were laughing about something on one of their phones.

Wade sucked a piece of ice into his mouth to chew. Peter was still watching him closely, so he kept his head turned to the side.

“So. Wade?”

“Hm. . . ? Oh! Yep, that’s me. Nice to officially meet you.” He stuck a hand across the table. Peter grabbed it gingerly and shook it.

“And you know her?” His voice sounded hesitant.

“Who, Alisha? Yeah. I helped her out a while back. Her little bro got himself in some trouble, and I got him out of it.” Wade ran his finger along the rim of the plastic cup.

{That was a fun job. We must have unalived at least twenty douches.}

[We were quite efficient.]

Alisha came back with a tray piled with pancakes and whipped cream. “I put the whip on the side for you because I forgot to ask.” She set a plate down in front of Peter. The pancakes on the plate she placed in front of Wade were barely visible beneath an eruption of whipped cream. 

“You know me so well.” Wade rubbed his hands gleefully and stabbed the pile with a fork.

She put a large milkshake in between them on the table. It had two straws in it. “For you, that’s on the house. Have fun.”

Once she walked away, Wade pushed the drink into Peter’s space, pulling out the extra straw to place in his water. “Don’t worry. I’m not the type to steal dairy from a baby.”

Peter was too busy tucking into his pancakes to register -- or care about -- what Wade had said. Wade grinned and attacked the stack in front of him. He found the eggs halfway through, also buried under whipped cream.

{Chef’s kiss.}

A few minutes later, their plates were empty. Alisha dropped the bill onto the table as she walked by, and Wade grabbed it before Peter had a chance to reach for it. 

“Alright, I gotta dash, but it was great to meet you. Here’s my number in case you ever decide I’m worth your oh-so-precious time.” Wade scribbled it down on a napkin and slid it over to Peter. Holding his hood low, he strolled out of the diner and back onto the streets.

\---

Wade went on his laptop as soon as he got home and changed back into his Deadpool suit. He scrolled through his Spidey notes and new articles about the web slinger before clicking to his information on Howie and the drug bust. Clicking on an email, he sat straight up, eyes glued to the screen.

One of his sources had sent him a video of someone pulling a bag over Howie’s head behind a closed-down bar. Howie didn’t look too good. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their legs seemed to keep giving out as they struggled with their attacker.

They dragged Howie to a van where another person was waiting with a syringe. She tapped it with her fingernail before sticking it into Howie’s arm. They spasmed and collapsed against the person holding a bag over their head.

{No! Not Howie!}

[Kill that bitch.]

Wade snarled. Fishing his phone from a pocket to call Dopinder, he walked to his spare room. Bea and Arthur glinted on the wall, begging for a fresh coating of blood. Wade was not going to disappoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh. Things are not looking great for our dear friend Howie.
> 
> In case you can't tell, fourth-wall breaks give me life. Three walls is enough, four is just getting excessive. But I can’t complain too much. That extra one is so much fun to break.
> 
> Next chapter: sneaky Spidey, a crossroads, Enter Jameson
> 
> Happily yours,  
> Kenwick


	6. Menace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

Jumping out of Stark Tower, a knot of dread formed in Peter’s stomach. He had just withheld information from billionaire tech-genius Tony Stark. Sure, he didn’t feel any obligation for the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D, but Tony had been there for him since he was a kid, just starting out his Spider-Man career. Although, Peter wasn’t even sure if it could be called a career since he got no payment or rewards for it. On the contrary, he often received criticism and even hate from people like Jameson.

Tony was the best part about being Spider-Man when he started out. They had worked together to develop his web shooters and test the limits of his powers. With Tony, Peter had a home, and among the Avengers, he belonged. He fit in and had the space to be his superhero persona without fear of repercussions.

His childhood naïveté was to blame for thinking he could keep all that. Before long, he learned that homes do not last, that secrets are meant to be kept, and that repercussions are inevitable. Still, Tony remained a constant support through that time, and Peter would be forever indebted to him for protecting Aunt May when Peter couldn’t.

No, Peter hadn’t turned his back on Tony Stark. He had turned his back on S.H.I.E.L.D. Growing up meant learning his heroes were humans and that they were flawed and limited. Peter was left to look after the little guys, and he grew apart from the Avengers over time.

He was glad to see Tony again, but things were different now. Peter was no longer the kid who idolized the genius and automatically agreed with everything he said. What Tony had said didn’t sit right with Peter, but he couldn’t put a finger on the reason. He had seen Deadpool torture two people, and those were the only two interactions he had had with the guy. ‘Merciless killer’ fit right into the image Peter had formed of Deadpool, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of sending the mercenary to whatever cruelties S.H.I.E.L.D. had in store.

So, despite owing an unpayable debt to Tony, Peter was holding back now. He wanted to learn more for himself before condemning the mercenary to a fate entirely out of Peter’s hands. The Avengers -- and Peter himself -- had made erroneous judgement calls before that had destroyed peoples’ lives. This situation required precision and time.

Spider-Man had been able to keep Deadpool in check so far, and he hoped that would be enough for now.

Still, his face grew hot with shame as he swung home.

\---

Peter completed his regular exercises efficiently before flopping in bed to rewatch episodes of Star Trek. His phone buzzed against his leg, and he grabbed it, reading the text. 

MJ: wanna hang out tomorrow? i have the day off

He smiled. It had been a while since he had been able to see MJ in person. Between her job and his Spider-Man business popping up without warning, they remained busy.

Peter: Sure! Want to get burgers?

MJ: k. see u at 12

MJ: dont let the bugs bite

MJ: oh nvm its too late lmao

Peter: Hahaha. Goodnight, MJ.

He turned off his phone, setting it on the nightstand. Just knowing that he would see MJ the next day loosened the knot in his stomach. He switched off Star Trek and rolled over in his bed.

As Peter was drifting off to sleep, he heard thumps and moans above him. This time his Spidey sense was silent. It was just his neighbors deciding to have a fun night (and ruin Peter’s). He pulled out the earplugs he had for such an occasion and squashed a pillow over his head. This was going to be a long night.

\---

Peter stumbled into the burger place fifteen minutes late. His stomach was growling because he had skipped breakfast. The fridge in his house was painfully empty, and he hadn’t taken pictures for Jameson since his Spidey sense started acting up, just in case someone actually was watching him. No pictures meant no pay, and no pay meant no food. 

When MJ saw him, she smirked. “Looks like someone had a fun night.”

Peter stuck up his middle finger in her direction and fell into his seat. He plopped his head on the table, sighing when he felt the cool laminate top against his cheek.

“I ordered your disgusting turkey burger for you.” She stuck out her tongue before taking a bite of her bean burger.

“Have more respect. I’m eating dino meat for lunch.” He lifted his head up to grin at her.

“It would be a lot more badass if you had killed the dino yourself.”

Peter shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind for Thanksgiving.”

“While you’re at it, you should also keep in mind the environmental impact of a holiday centered around gorging oneself on meat, and the moral issues with cruel modification and mass production of animals.”

“I already planned a sweet potato dish for the main course, actually. I thought I told you when I invited you to mine for Thanksgiving. You know Ned’s gonna be there?” Ned had been working as a coder with a video game company in Washington. 

“No shit? Damn, we’re really getting the gang back together.” MJ finished her burger and licked her fingers clean. “Is it cool if I bring my girlfriend?” she asked through a mouthful a fries.

“You have a girlfriend? What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”

MJ smirked. “Jealous? She is pretty awesome, but we’ve been keeping things low-key.”

“And you want to bring your low-key girlfriend to Thanksgiving?” Peter stared at her, eyebrows raised.

“I’m ready for something more official, so, if she wants the same thing, yes.”

“Okay. And, yeah, of course she can come. Ned’s bringing his girlfriend, too.”

“Aren’t you glad I set you up with someone? You’d have been the lone single at your own party.”

Peter nodded. “I guess I owe you one.”

“How are things with you and Kat?”

“Great, actually. We both like tea, so there’s that.”

“I thought the nerd thing would do it, but, no, it’s the tea.”

Peter threw a fry at her. “I’m more than just my big brain, MJ.”

“Oh, for sure. You also like tea.”

Laughing, he lifted his cup of iced tea up. MJ tapped her own against it. Peter took a long drink. “Delicious.”

MJ rolled her eyes.

“Things are going great with Kat. She was really chill about it when I had to rush out on her for. . . an emergency.” Peter glanced around the restaurant. “And she’s really smart, too. Like,  _ really _ really, you know?”

MJ nodded.

“We have plans to go to an event at the museum next week. It’s all about the balance of Atlantic marine life in the past and present and how human influences have affected that balance. She’s really excited.”

“And apparently so are you.” She was grinning at him, her chin in her hand.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Okay, that’s enough about you. I got this epic assignment to interview serial killers of different ages, and compare them. I can’t wait. It's gonna be sweet. They had me stuck on filing and entering data charts the last seven months.” MJ worked as a criminologist now. She had told Peter way too many disturbing details about her studies when they were at uni together, but he loved hearing her stories now. She was always helpful with his dilemmas involving criminals, able to explain things from their point of view. It helped him decipher their next moves or sometimes figure out what could convince them to stop.

“Hey, MJ, can I get your advice on something?”

“Are we going back to Kat? You’re a lovesick fool already.” MJ smirked.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just -- Stark was telling me about this mutate mercenary, Deadpool, who’s in New York right now. He wants me to help them -- S.H.I.E.L.D and Tony -- track him down so they can lock him away. They say it’s for the good of the city.”

“But you’re not so sure?” MJ tilted her head.

“Well, I’m sure it would be good for the city, but I’m not sure I could do that to him. You’ve seen S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mutates prisons. If I’m going to subject someone to that, I would need to be absolutely sure I was doing the best thing.”

MJ sighed. “So you’re not sure that this would be the best thing?”

“I don’t know. I just think that maybe we could come up with a plan to stop him from hurting people while not sentencing him to that hell. From how Stark was talking, mutate prison would be the best-case scenario for him.” Peter scrunched his hands in his hair.

MJ looked thoughtful. “If it’s not putting you in danger, you could always just talk to him. He might listen to someone he views as a fellow hero. It’s an idea, but there’s no one-size-fits-all solution for this kind of thing.”

“I don’t think he would listen long enough for me to get through to him.”

“So we’re looking for something that circumvents prison cruelty and brutality while still forcibly stopping him from hurting people?”

“I guess so.”

MJ ate her fries for a minute while she came up with a suggestion. “You could always go the intimidation route. You know, get up in his face, yell about how he’d better stay out of your city if he knows what’s good for him.”

“I think he’d respond better to action.”

MJ shrugged. “So beat him up a little bit.”

“MJ!” Peter hissed.

“What? I said a little bit. If it avoids the mutate prison option, it might be the best you can do. It’s not like you’ve never beat up criminals before.”

“I guess that’s true. I need to think about it.” Peter rubbed a hand over his face. He would avoid violence if he could, but MJ was right. Intimidation might be the best option he had.

“Back to me now?”

“Yeah. When’s your assignment?”

\---

The issue was how to find Deadpool. The card he had slipped Peter contained contact information, but he didn’t think calling Deadpool would work after he had tried to leave him to the police -- a group with whom he clearly did not get along well. 

His best idea was to keep an eye on Howie who would still be hospitalized for a few days more. As much as he hated the idea of basically using an injured civilian as bait, Deadpool seemed to think they were important. If he watched over them as Spider-Man, he could keep Howie safe and have a shot at Deadpool.

Howie was out of the hospital before Peter saw the telltale red and black suit again. Peter had almost given up surveying the area around Howie, suspecting that Deadpool had lost interest in them. But here he was, strolling down the street towards Howie’s home. Peter utilized the time Deadpool spent walking to size up his enemy. He had a multitude of weapons strapped to him (no surprise there), and he had a belt of pouches. Peter tried not to think about what might be in those. He was muscular but moved lightly. Strangely enough, he also held a bouquet and a small gift-wrapped box.

Peter shot out a web and swung to a building where he had a better view of the alley Howie was crouched in. He prepared to swing down onto Deadpool. When Howie saw Deadpool, they jogged toward him, jabbing a finger accusingly and yelling at him about knocking and having no respect.

Peter paused. Howie didn’t seem to be afraid of the guy who had stabbed them walking into their alley.

Deadpool was holding up his hands and taking a step back. Howie glanced back and forth between the bouquet, the box, and Deadpool with an unamused expression. He grabbed the box out of Deadpool’s hand and ripped apart the wrapping. The mercenary just stood there, watching, as they pulled a knife out of the box.

“I’m here for your Make-A-Wish. It’s a one time thing. Pin the knife to the Dead --  _ Jesus _ fucking Christ!”

Howie had plunged the knife into Deadpool’s thigh up to the hilt and twisted it around in a full circle.

Deadpool held a hand to the wound. “Warn a guy before you stick it in him next time.”

Howie laughed. “I thought you said this would be a one time thing. I took full advantage.” They grabbed the flowers and sat down against a wall.

“Yeah, I should not have told you that.” He gripped the handle of the knife and yanked it out. He didn’t try to staunch the bleeding or create a tourniquet for the limb.

Peter wondered if he would have to carry another person to the hospital already and made sure he knew the route. Then he remembered Tony’s comments about Deadpool’s powers and felt stupid.

Deadpool sat down next to Howie and asked them vague questions about a boss and other buyers. Once Howie told him what they knew, which did not seem like much, they both fell quiet. Deadpool stared at Howie. “You’re not looking so great, pumpkin.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I know! The stab wound is  _ not _ turning out to be as sexy an accessory as I thought it would be.”

Howie rolled their eyes and patted Deadpool’s shoulder. His mask stretched wide in a smile.

Peter raised an eyebrow. Their interactions indicated that they actually were ‘pals,’ like Deadpool had insisted before, but Peter was fairly sure that friends did not go around stabbing each other in alleys. 

He wasn’t sure what to do about Deadpool anymore. He was a self-proclaimed mercenary who had killed someone right in front of Spider-Man, but Peter still felt conflicted. 

Deadpool seemed to have some skewed sense of morality, like most villains Peter faced, but this was less about dominating Earth and sacrificing countless humans to create a ‘better’ world and more about enacting justice on individuals. With all the heroes Peter interacted with, he had learned that no two people had the same methods or the same perspective on what qualifies as justice and the greater good.

For now, Peter scrapped his earlier plan and settled on keeping an eye on the mercenary in the future. He swung away, leaving them to finish their conversation.

\---

The next night, Peter went out on patrol. He stopped a store robbery, helped a couple lost kids, and saved someone crossing the street. His Spidey sense was present for the first half of his patrol, but blessedly stopped, leaving him to do his hero work in peace.

As he was finishing for the night, he noticed a person lying on the ground in an empty construction zone. He dropped to the ground and ran up to the person. Her skin was yellow, and her eyes were white. When Peter approached her, she hissed at him, exposing dripping, black fangs. She crawled backwards away from him.

Peter held a hand out. “I’m not here to hurt you. Are you okay?”

She did not respond to his words, still baring her vicious fangs. Tires crunched on gravel and shrapnel behind him. He turned his head, still listening to the vibrations coming from the woman to keep a figurative eye on her.

A couple people stepped out of the van, all bulging muscles and ski masks. A voice chimed out from the car, sickly sweet. “Grab both of them.”

Everyone jumped into action at once. The goons ran toward Peter with outstretched arms, Peter shot a web toward one of their wrists, and the person on the ground shot a stream of venom from her fangs. Peter’s Spidey sense warned him to move out of the way in time, but one of the goons took a direct hit. He howled in pain.

Peter yanked his strand of web, toppling the second goon to the ground. The woman was leaping over the first goon, leaving strands of silken venom in her path. The goon seemed to be paralyzed on the ground, doing nothing as the strands coated him.

While Peter was watching the battle next to him, the other goon had recovered and walked up to Peter, hand outstretched. He grabbed Peter’s arm, and electricity coursed through his body. His vision flashed white, and his body screamed with pain.

The current ended, and Peter shoved an elbow into the goon’s nose, rolling out of his range. He shot a web at his ankle and pulled, knocking him back over. Once he was down, Peter used more webs to secure the goon to the ground. “And here I thought we had a spark.”

“Well,  _ well. _ The boss sure will be happy to see you.” It was the voice he had heard in the car. Someone was standing over his shoulder, baring a smile that did not reach her eyes. A syringe was in her hand, poised dangerously near his arm.

“Can’t say I feel the same way.” Peter grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. He pulled back her hand, putting pressure on her wrist, and she dropped the syringe. 

“This isn’t over, spiderling.” 

She vanished, leaving Peter holding nothing. Moments later, the van sped away. The other mutate was bent over the first goon, her back to Peter. She spoke softly, breaking the silence. “Oh my god.”

Peter walked slowly toward her. “Do you know what happened?”

Her shoulders heaved. “I remember everything.” Turning around, she looked into the whites of Peter’s mask. “Are you Spider-Man?”

He nodded.

“Can you help me?”

“I can try.”

Sighing, she nodded back. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I started mutating a few days ago, but I don’t know why. And now --” She cut herself off with a sob. “-- look what I’ve done.” She covered her face with her hands.

Peter stepped forward to see what she was talking about. The body was covered with black silken strands. There were bite marks covering the body, chunks torn out in some places.

“It’s so cold.”

Peter realized the sobs behind him had stopped. The woman was laying on the ground, shriveling in on herself. Peter stepped down into her space. “Whoa. No, no, no. Hang on, miss. I’ll get you help.”

He felt her shivering when he picked her up. Peter’s apartment was far, and for all he knew they were still being watched by the people in the van. He decided to take her to the gas station by the construction zone. They saw all sorts of weird stuff there, so hopefully they wouldn’t be kicked out.

Running with all his strength, he carried her into the building and set her down on the ground. She had stopped shivering and was now as still as the person she had paralyzed. He shook her. “Hey. Wake up. You can’t sleep.” Her eyes stayed shut, and her body moved stiffly with Peter’s shoves. “No,” he breathed. He was too late. Another person suffered the consequences because he wasn’t good enough.

“Holy shit! Spider-Man killed somebody!”

What? Peter turned his head to the checkout counter. Someone was pointing a phone at him, presumably recording the events. Leaving the woman behind, Peter ran. He didn’t stop running until he reached the alley a few blocks from his house where he had gotten in the habit of changing into his civvies.

From there, he walked home. His head felt like cotton. Nothing seemed real. He shivered and was reminded of the feeling of the dead body in his arms.

That night, his dreams were filled with black fangs and icy, yellow skin.

\---

A growl from his stomach when he woke up reminded him of his severe lack of food. He was out of options now and needed to take the pictures he was hired to supply. He’d have to risk someone connecting him to the pictures in the  _ Daily Bugle _ under the name Peter Parker. At least Jameson would up the price of photos now that there was a negative story to publish on. Peter was willing to take the hit to his self-esteem and reputation if it meant he got to eat.

Before he took pictures, he did his usual patrol. Word had already spread about the woman in the gas station. One man he saved from a mugging rushed away as soon as he could, shooting fearful looks back at Peter.

His Spidey sense didn’t buzz during his whole patrol. It had been off and on that week, so he figured he was safe even if the warnings were actually for someone watching him.

The photography was a welcome relief from his patrol. He lost himself in the shots, webbing the camera at unique angles. It gave him an opportunity to do moves that looked epic but were useless in a fight.

The familiar warning jolt returned as he was scrolling through photos. He still needed a few more. The damage was done now, anyways. Determined to ignore his spidey sense, he continued swinging between buildings, collecting every shot he needed for the next couple weeks, at least.

He changed in the alley, like the night before, relieved that his spidey sense was quiet again.

The relief didn’t last long. By the time he was on the normal sidewalk, the feeling was back. Fatigue weighed him down, but he decided to walk a few extra blocks in the hope the feeling would leave. He couldn’t shake the fear that twisted his stomach. This was the first time his spidey sense acted up while he wasn’t Spider-Man.

He pulled out his phone to fidget and release some of the nervous energy. A block later, he ran into a warm wall. A cheery voice greeted him. Looking up, Peter didn’t see much. There was a tall person standing right in front of him. He was covered head to toe in dark, loose clothing. His face was hidden under the hood of his sweatshirt.

“Hi?” Peter didn’t recognize the person -- not that there was much to recognize -- but he sure seemed to think he knew Peter.

“Play along.” His voice was dark and quiet. It abruptly brightened and he rambled about Peter ghosting him and something about Fridays.

Peter wasn’t sure what he was supposed to play along for. Maybe this person needed help but couldn’t say anything. He took a step back, sizing up the person in front of him. Something wasn’t sitting right with Peter. Maybe it was the still-present spidey sense buzzing angrily.

The person moved his head slightly and whispered, “You’ve got a tail there buddy.”

That explained the spidey sense. Peter would have been able to confront the person who had been watching him, but he wasn’t Spider-Man right now. He decided to play along, hoping he would get an opportunity to engage with his stalker before this ended. “Oh, yeah. I -- Good to see you. . . Ryan. Sorry about, you know. . . Fridays.” 

He didn’t know what to say next. He didn’t want to flat out dismiss someone who was trying to be helpful, but he needed to get this guy out of here. “Maybe we could meet up another time? I’m kind of busy.” He continued in a whisper, “Thanks, but I’m fine. I can handle it.”

The man brushed him off cheerily, then his voice darkened to a rough growl, “If you don’t want me to walk with you, I can just take care of this guy right now for you.”

Peter stepped back, readying his stance. He surveyed the area to see what he could use if a fight broke out.

The person hunched in on himself, slouching over so much that his bag touched the ground. The Hello Kitty on the bag smiled up at Peter. He figured the person was trying to shrink his size to appear less intimidating. He nodded and offered to go to Denny’s together.

The man agreed, and they talked for a bit as they walked to the diner. He was turning out to be pleasant company, despite the weird refusal to show any of his face.

“Hey, Pete?”

Peter hummed in acknowledgement.

“You head on to the Denny’s. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.”

The blood rushed out of Peter’s face. He wanted to do something about the stalker, but he didn’t know what they might be capable of or what Whatever You Want Babe was planning to do. He didn’t want another person to get hurt because of him. “What are you going to do?”

“Teach him a lesson,” he said like it was obvious. That didn’t clear anything up.

Before Peter could respond, Whatever You Want Babe had attacked the person following them. He smashed them to the ground and pulled out a gun as Peter ran up. He gasped. That had escalated quickly. “You can’t just kill him.”

Peter pulled him off and examined the person who had been following them. He didn’t look familiar. The guy threw up. Thankfully, it was to the side and not all over Peter.

This was the guy who had left him sleepless with nerves, who had kept him on edge for weeks. Peter felt anger boil up, and he slammed a fist into the asshole’s nose. “Don’t ever come near me again.” The stalker howled in pain.

“Holy fuck. I think I just came. Don’t kink-shame me.”

Peter dragged the bloodied person to the wall and sat him up against it. Hopefully, that would get him off Peter’s back, at least for a bit. “I told you I could handle it.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Any way I could get you to handle me like that?”

Peter looked over the pile of loose clothing that supposedly contained a person. He had a hip jutted out like he was trying to be seductive, but he didn’t sound serious.

“Eh. You’re not worth my time,” he joked back.

They finished the walk to the diner and sat in a booth. Even with the improved lighting, Peter couldn’t catch a glimpse of Whatever You Want Babe’s face.

He chatted up the server, making jokes just like he had with Peter. He found himself irrationally wishing that the banter was still with him. Peter caught a name in their conversation, and pinned it in his mind.

“Anything I can get you?”

Peter jolted, looking up at the server with a weak smile. Once he ordered, she walked off to the kitchen. Peter watched the man -- Wade -- fidget with his cup of water. “So. Wade?”

“Hm. . . ? Oh. Yep, that’s me. Nice to officially meet you.” He stuck out a gloved hand, which Peter shook.

Peter watched the server bring a tray of soft drinks to the other group in the diner. “And you know her?”

“Who, Alisha? Yeah, I helped her out a while back. Her little bro got himself in some trouble, and I got him out of it.”

Oh. Peter shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the person who had helped him was in the habit of helping people. The food arrived at their table, distracting Peter from his thoughts. He couldn’t sell the pictures to Jameson until tomorrow, so he dug into his pile of food right away, savoring the warmth and flavor. 

As his stomach reached a comfortable fullness, he remembered that he had no way to afford this. There were a few coins in his pocket, but nothing more than that. He was such an entitled asshole, expecting someone who had already given Peter his time to also buy him food.

When the bill came, Wade grabbed it right away, not offering to split. Peter began to thank him but was cut off. “Alright, I gotta dash, but it was great to meet you. Here’s my number in case you ever decide I’m worth your oh-so-precious time.” The teasing tone was back, making Peter smile.

Wade slid a napkin across the table, and he picked it up. Crayon numbers filled the center of the page with little hearts and pancakes littering the edges. While Peter examined it, Wade slipped out of the diner.

The phone number was more than Peter was expecting, considering Wade put a lot of effort into hiding his face and hadn’t freely offered his name. He was probably just trying to be polite with the number and hoped that Peter wouldn’t use it.

Peter folded up the napkin and slid it in his pocket on his way out the door.

\---

“Stop shuffling your feet! Stand up straight, like a man.” The moment Jameson saw him walking into his office, he had yelled one of his usual greetings. “I need photos pronto. The Spider-Menace was caught on film killing someone, and my readers are demanding details, updates, news! Stop standing around, and go get me pictures.”

Peter rolled his eyes once Jameson looked down to grab his coffee. He held up a couple photos he had taken the night before. “Already on it, sir.” The pictures he chose had Spider-Man looking into the camera while moving away. It would be suspicious-looking enough for Jameson without being directly incriminating.

“These’ll have to do for now, but keep your camera out and your eyes peeled. We need to get ahead of the curve on a scandal like this.”

Peter nodded.

“Well? What are you waiting for, a pat on the back? Get out of here.”

“My pay, sir?” Peter responded through clenched teeth. He needed to find a new job.

“Talk to Jean. She’ll take care of it. And, Parker, be more like that gas station employee. Get the raw, unfiltered truth. I’ll double the pay for any proof of Spider-Menace’s crimes.”

Peter let the door slam on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jameson and MJ entered in the same chapter. What an exciting time.  
> Also, rip to Extra #29 (venom fang person). Introduced and dead in the same scene. That's a rough go of it.
> 
> Next chapter: mission rescue Howie, a much-needed conversation, Wade is caught
> 
> With best wishes,  
> Kenwick


	7. Catch of the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic violence, torture

Knowing that Howie had lost their knife, Wade had given them one under the guise of an apology. A tracker was hidden in the handle to keep tabs on where they were, just in case he wanted to ask them more questions. Now that Howie had been kidnapped, he was glad to have a way to find them.

Dopinder had dropped him off at the location with his stockpile of weapons and gadgets all piled into a backpack. He was in front of an abandoned warehouse a couple miles out of the city. A line of vans sat in the parking lot next to the building.

Wade lied flat on a mound of soil from some digging project that was never finished. Twigs jabbed into his stomach. Brushing them away with a hand, he pulled out his binoculars.

{I’m loving this vibe. I bet we’re gonna find some creepy shit in the basement. That’s a classic.}

[For a horror movie, sure.]

“What could we star in besides a horror story? We were practically made for the role.”

{Shoutout to Weapon X, you cocksnuggling blender-fuckers.}

[Not sure where you got the idea that you’re the star, Wade.]

“Said the voice in someone else’s head.”

[I’m the comic relief. Everyone loves the comic relief. No one loves the disfigured villain.]

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to Darth Vader.”

{I thought I was the comic relief.}

“That’s true. White, you’re more like our wise, old, sassy grandma.”

[It doesn’t matter. We need to figure out how to save Howie.]

Wade scanned the building, zooming in to look through the few windows. The building was dark and appeared empty. There weren’t any visible security cameras either. The air was still. Not even the rustling of leaves cut through the silence. No one moved inside or outside the building.

[Wrong address?]

{Let’s ding-dong ditch them.}

[It’s called doorbell ditch.]

{Pretty sure it’s both, wiseass.}

“I can think of a few ways to ditch their ding dongs.”

[Focus.]

{Thanks, grammy.}

Someone stepped out from behind the building, holding a walkie-talkie up. Wade couldn’t hear them from where he was. As they talked, they walked to one of the vans. Wade waited until they drove out of the parking lot before pulling on his backpack and standing up.

He ran along the building in the direction the person had come from until he found a door. It blended into the grey stucco wall and lacked a handle. 

“Maybe it’s push not pull?” Wade pushed on the door, but it didn’t budge. It was probably activated from inside or with some fancy tech.

{Luckily, we have some fancy tech of our own.}

“Hells yeah we do.” Wade retrieved a hydraulic spreader from his combi kit in his backpack and stuck it into the gap between the door and the wall. After a few moments of work, he heard a lock break. This time, when he shoved, the door swung open.

“Ding dong, douches.” If they had an alarm on that door, he didn’t have long before they’d be on him, guns blazing.

[Hopefully not too long. We need directions.] 

He closed up his backpack and dashed down the hall. It opened into a small room with doors on every wall and a staircase leading down. It was always the basement in horror stories. Wade ran down.

{I think the next trope we’ll hit is gonna be the high-pitched scream, like in those 50s movies.}

As he reached the bottom flight, Wade slowed. Beeps and light snoring echoed up the stairwell. Wade padded down the rest of the steps into the room. Two men were seated in front of a bunch of screens that showed the feed from security cameras. Wade didn’t recognize the areas on the screens, but most of them were of cells with people crouched in corners or strapped to tables.

Wade threw a knife at the sleeping guard while he clasped a hand over the other’s mouth and nose, pulling him out of the chair. He pulled out another knife, twirling it in front of the guard’s face. “Here’s the deal. Keep quiet, and I’ll make this experience real nice for you. Or you can _not_ keep quiet and, well -- spoiler alert -- it won’t be nearly as pleasurable for you.” Wade removed his hand, and the guy opened his mouth to scream.

{Called it! I almost have a trope bingo.}

Wade returned his hand over the guard’s mouth and cut off a finger with the knife. 

“You didn’t listen. Was it the spoiler alert?” Wade cut off a pinkie. The guard was whimpering and wriggling beneath Wade. “Let’s try this again, yeah?”

The guard nodded. Removing his hand slowly, Wade pressed the knife against the guard’s wrist in reminder.

{Just push a _little_ harder.}

Wade pushed enough to split the skin.“Where do you keep your prisoners?”

“They’re just down the hallway. Please don’t -- please don’t hurt me.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Do I need a key or something, maybe a thumbprint, to get there?”

The guard’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. His chest was heaving.

{Oh, there’s definitely something. This is gonna be fun.}

“That seems a little unlikely, don’t you think?” Lifting the knife, Wade set the blade against the guard’s cheek. He wiped the sticky blood off onto his skin.

The guard closed his eyes. “No. Please. There’s a -- a code. There’s a code.”

“Is there also an echo in here? What’s the code?”

“I don’t know it. Aaron does. . .” He gestured to the guard Wade had unalived. “and the boss, and the people who work back there.”

“And the janitor, and the prisoners, and apparently everyone but _you_.” Wade spoke roughly, punctuating his sentence with a flick of his knife.

[You just _had_ to unalive the other one.]

He was sweating buckets but kept eye-contact with Wade. “I swear. I just got this job last week.”

“Oh, congratulations. Yeah. I mean, it must have been hard to find a job in this economy.” Wade patted his cheek.

The guard nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Good chat.” he butted the handle of the knife against the guard’s head. “Nighty-night.”

[He might have had information!]

{Just a few fingers away from getting it.}

“He didn’t.” Wade stood up and pulled the knife out of the other guard. He stuck a USB drive into the computer and began downloading a copy of the information. Looking across the screens, he didn’t find Howie, but he hoped that the cameras didn’t cover every cell.

After he retrieved the USB drive and packed up his backpack, Wade continued down the hall. There was a door at the end with a keypad. He pulled out a card and jimmied it in the gap until the door clicked open. “This place is less secure than a five-year-old’s browser history.”

[What kind of five-year-old has a browser history?]

{Oh, grammy, you wouldn’t understand.}

Wade stepped into the dark. His steps echoed down what must have been a corridor. Something buzzed above him. Setting his fingertips against the left wall, he continued his march to Howie.

As the hallway dragged on, Wade’s eyes adjusted to the dark. He could make out fuzzy outlines of papers pinned to the walls. His fingers slipped into an empty space. The hall divided into two paths.

{Left is the new right.}

Wade readied his knife and moved into the left hall. After a couple steps, his nose smashed into cold metal. Blood soaked his mask, stifling his breaths. 

“Fuck.” He had brought an array of goodies to break in and escape, but he hadn’t brought one extra fucking mask. He swallowed copper. Reaching out, he felt along the wall. There was a handle.

[And it’s not even locked? Are we in the right place?]

“We’re in the left place.” When the door swung open, white light streamed into the hall, blinding Wade. He heard soft beeps and clicks and something else. Crackling?

“We need to bump it up a couple notches for now. We’ll need another test before increasing it more. If he dies, so do you. Got it?” The person’s voice flowed easily and was high-pitched. She spoke like she was discussing the weather.

Wade liked her.

He crouched against the wall as his eyes adjusted to the stark fluorescent lights illuminating the bone-white walls. The woman walked out of the room, studying her clipboard, and turned to walk down the hall.

Wade pushed himself up enough to peer through a window into the room she exited. Someone was fiddling with a machine connected to a padded table. On the table, held down by leather straps, laid a young person, probably a teenager. They tugged against the restraints, and Wade heard crackling again. “What are they, a pack of Doritos?”

{Sounds more like a pudding cup to me.}

[What kind of pudding have you been eating? It’s more like a fireplace.}

“It does smell like smoke.” Wade crouched back down and crept along the wall past the door. He checked rooms as he went but didn’t find Howie anywhere along that hall. It ended in a staircase.

[The basement has a basement.]

{Surprised Pikachu face.}

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, an alarm blared and the lights changed, casting a deep blue glow over everything.

{♪ _Under the seeeaaa. Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter. ♪_ *wink* }

[Shut up. This is serious. We need to find Howie and get out fast.]

{Suck my clit.}

Footsteps thumped above him, and Wade ran down the hall. This hall was lined with the cages he had seen on the security cameras. Most of the people in them were huddled to the side, but a few had stepped forward to press their faces against the bars. They stared with wide eyes as Wade ran past.

One face caught his attention. Howie. 

“There’s my pumpkin pal!” He stood in front of the bars and turned to face the security running towards them. There were six of them stuffed into the narrow hall. Two had weird glove things that glowed, and the rest had guns.

Wade drew his katanas, grinning at the rush of steel. He rolled forward as the first round of bullets fired at him, hoping the prisoners would have the good sense to take cover in their cells. He dropped one katana as he rolled, instead grabbing a smoke bomb and tossing it into the group. As red smoke poured out, people began coughing, including Wade. Smoke plus bloodied mask equals unhappy lungs.

Blinking away tears, Wade thrust his katana into one of the guards with a gun. He continued through two more guards before someone grabbed his arm, and it felt like his entire body was on fire. He recognized the sensation as electrocution. His vision faded in and out of blackness for a few moments. He was lying on the ground, surrounded by the remaining three guards.

A raspy voice managed to speak through coughs. “Let her know it’s taken care of.”

Wade moved his arm slightly on his leg, gripping the gun holstered there. He breathed in as he pulled the gun out, aiming up at the person who had spoken. 

“That was shocking.” He pulled the trigger. A bullet tore through his arm. He returned the favor and climbed to his feet. Another person shot his hand, and he dropped his gun with a yelp. He punched them with his other hand, and they grabbed at their face, still aiming a gun at him. He swung his forearm into their hand, knocking the gun away. They fought for a minute while the last guard shot Wade’s back repeatedly.

{Rude.}

Pulling out a gun, Wade shot into a stomach, avoiding anything _too_ important. He turned around to face the person who had been shooting. They set their weapon on the ground when Wade aimed at their head.

“You heard your friend. Let whoever the fuck know it’s taken care of.” He gestured with his gun to the walkie-talkie at their hip.

[It’s actually ‘whomever the fuck.’]

“That does not sound nearly as badass,” Wade said to the side.

{We do things badass style, White. You know that.}

The security guard was staring down Wade’s gun and pulling at his sleeves. He sounded like he was hyperventilating.

“You having a panic attack? Or do you just have to pee really bad?”

He shook his head frantically, still pulling at his sleeves. Wade lowered his gun with narrowed eyes. “Breathe, man. Just make the call, and this will all be over. You can go back to jacking off or whatever. I really don’t care.” He jerked the gun pointedly towards the walkie-talkie again.

Nodding, the guard held up the walkie-talkie and pressed a button on the side. “Threat has been neutralized. All clear. Over.”

The device released a staticky sound before a voice came through. “Report back to section C. Over.”

Wade slammed his gun into the guard’s head. He slumped onto the concrete floor, his elbow hitting the concrete with a sickening crack.

The air was still hazy and putrid from his smoke bomb. Wade pulled an air freshener out from his backpack and began spritzing it everywhere.

[Now it smells like a charred field of peonies. So much better.]

Setting the air freshener back, Wade pulled out a lockpicking kit. He made quick work of Howie’s cell and gestured for them to follow.

[This is the most prepared I’ve ever seen you.]

“I’m always prepared, but no one’s interested in fucking someone who looks like two eyeballs in a bowl of burnt-chili vomit.” Wade packed up the kit and put away all of his weapons except a gun.

Howie laughed. “I thought that’s what the mask was for.”

“No, it’s to protect my super secret identity that absolutely no one knows,” Wade Winston Wilson responded.

Howie stared at him with a blank face.

Clapping his hands together, Wade hopped back a step. “Time to get out of here.” He handed them one of his guns as well as a knife and ran down the hall.

Howie followed closely, knife held in front of them. “I want my knife back. It has good memories.”

“I’m like 82 percent sure you’re referring to stabbing me, and I’m personally offended. That should be your best memory.” Wade held out an arm to stop Howie as they neared the top of the staircase. He peered around the corner before continuing.

“‘What about everyone else here?’ you might be asking yourself. ‘Deadpool, I thought you were trying to be a hero,’ I can hear you saying.” Wade opened the door to the dark hall.

“I was not wondering any of that. I just want to get the fuck out of this creepy place.” They pushed past him into the darkness.

“Wasn’t talking to you, pumpkin pie. The answer is that ‘I’ll be back’ -- Schwarzenegger -- and save these damsels in distress later. For now, I’m going to get myself _out_ of this fuckeroo and form a respectable plan with a bulletin board and a shitload of crayons.”

“Good to know, I guess. Just pay me back before your suicide mission.” Howie tugged open the door at the end of the hall. The alarms blared again. 

“Fuck. Didn’t report to area C.” Wade pointed to the staircase, and they ran up.

Howie grabbed Wade’s arm at the top of the stairs and pointed to one of the doors in the room. “Wade, my knife.”

He cursed but pulled out his lockpicking kit. Howie stopped him, grabbing the kit instead and kneeling in front of the door. “I got this. You watch for the security.”

A minute later, Wade heard the click of the lock opening and a slight shuffle of Howie moving inside. Footsteps thumped up the staircase, seconds away from the top.

{Time for our horror story’s pièce de résistance. Make. them. pay.}

Wade shot without hesitation. One by one they dropped, heads gaping with holes. Brains and bone splattered red onto the white walls.

[Beautiful.]

There was one person left, rushing down the stairs. Wade jumped down, catching himself on the flight below the guard. His arm dislocated, and he pulled himself up with the other one.

{Slice ‘em and dice ‘em. Make that fucker wish they had never touched Howie.}

Wade slipped a katana out, testing the familiar weight in his palm. With a twist of his wrist, the guard’s head parted from his body and bounced down the staircase. Wade pushed his shoulder back into place with a painful pop.

Stepping over the body, Wade ascended the stairs and peeked in on Howie, who was rifling through a drawer labelled ‘confiscated items.’ He leaned over their shoulder to keep an eye out for the dagger with a leather handle molded perfectly to his grip.

{Why did we have to give that one to Howie? It was my favorite.}

[It was also the one we stabbed them with. It’s the symbol of the thing, Yellow.]

Howie made a noise of delight and pulled out the knife. They tucked it into their pants and closed the drawer.

When they stepped out of the room, Howie looked at the stairs and nodded. “Nice work.”

“I call this piece ‘Pool of Dead.’ I’ve decided to continue my art career in the future, but I’ll need an investor. You can start me off with just 20 grand.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Your loss, Johnny Pumpkinseed.” Wade turned on one foot and walked down the last hall. Howie pattered along behind him.

\---

Wade plugged the USB drive into his laptop once he got home. He downloaded all the information and organized it into sections. There were pictures, videos, data tables, and written reports. The only thing that wasn’t there was a reason for such shitty security.

{Maybe we’re just that good.}

[That’s not it.]

The security would be better the second time around, so Wade began studying to understand what exactly he was getting himself into. After a couple hours, he began to have an idea. 

There were videos of ‘patients’ receiving something through an IV, having their blood drawn, and having their reflexes tested. Written reports mentioned mutations, progress, and changes.

Wade also found files about distributing mutation-inducing formulas through cocaine. They had established an employee as a dealer in Queens, and they specifically sought out people who were alone and down on their luck, people no one would notice go missing.

[Howie.]

“We noticed.”

That meant that Howie could have mutated. They hadn’t said anything to Wade, but they might not have even known. He needed to contact them again.

Then came the bit that left Wade scrambling on his couch, heart pounding against his chest. There was a folder titled ‘Surveillance Contract 13B: Wade Wilson.’

“No. No, no, no, no. It can’t -- that’s not me. I didn’t sign a contract with these Weapon X wannabes.” He opened the file, and his eyes darted over the page, processing the words but not believing them.

[It is. You did.]

This organization was the client that had hired Wade to gather information on Spider-Man.

\---

[Wade, stop.]

He paused, gun held to his mouth. His head was still pounding from the last ten bullets that had burst his brain that day.

[I’ve had enough of your pity party. You need to do something about this.]

He dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “I really fucked up.”

How could this have happened? He hadn’t bothered with his more thorough method of background check because he figured Spidey could handle himself, and the basic check didn’t reveal anything suspicious. He wasn’t hired to kill someone. 

No, this was much worse than that. Now he was involved with an organization that was torturing people and forcing them to mutate.

[Yeah, it’s bad. That’s _why_ you need to get off your sorry ass and do something.]

Wade tucked his gun away and pulled his mask back on.

{Am I the only one who doesn’t understand what they want with Spidey? It seems like they get their kicks from creating mutates, not killing them.}

“Maybe they’re studying mutates to figure out how to make their own.” Wade walked back to his laptop and scrolled through the list of files. There were a few other surveillance contracts, but many numbers were missing. He found 10B, 10X, and 14X. The 10B file was for someone else hired to watch Spider-Man before Wade. He didn’t recognize the name of the target for the other two files. Those had been marked as null due to the target’s death.

{That’s not good news for Spidey.}

“There’s not much information here.”

[We can’t really expect them to keep all their information in one spot, especially with how lax their security was there.]

He closed his laptop and walked to the sink to pour a drink of water. He needed to form a plan fast to get more information on the organization and to free the people they were experimenting on.

He needed to talk to Spider-Man.

[What?]

{That’s a terrible idea, big guy. He’s gonna hate us.}

[You _stalked_ him for a month.]

“I don’t need to tell him who was following him, just that someone was. And it would make things a hell of a lot easier to do this with some backup.” Wade gulped down his water.

[He’s never going to listen to you, much less _help_ you.]

“I have to try.”

\---

After a month of practice, it was not difficult for Wade to find Spidey in his Spider Zone. It was much more difficult to approach him.

[Oh, _now_ you have a guilty conscience?]

{Big guy’s a bit slow, take it easy on him.}

[He needs to be held accountable.]

Wade sat down in an alley, hands over his ears. He needed to think about how to do this. Spidey would not be happy to see him after their previous encounters. Maybe if he showed up while he was taking down a mugger or something and was too distracted to --

“Are you okay?”

Wade looked up to the quiet voice above him. Big white eye lenses were staring down at him.

{Hah, now you’re regretting having your little freak-out in this alley, huh?}

“Shut up. This is our chance!” Wade leapt to his feet, but Spidey was gone.

[You blew it. That was all on you.]

“I would’ve been fine if you hadn’t _interrupted_.” Wade punched the brick wall.

“Oh, sorry. Should I go?”

Wade jolted. He hadn’t expected a response. Spidey was standing at the entrance to the alley, his head tilted to the side.

{Adorable.}

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Wait, no! No, stay, Spidey!” He took a step forward and reached his hands out.

Spidey took a step back.

[Oh my god. You got a second chance, and you’re gonna blow it again.]

“I just want to talk to you about. . . something.” Wade brought his hands to his side and hopped from foot to foot.

Spidey crossed his arms. “And you aren’t going to try to stab me again?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“I think I’d rather give than receive at this point.” The lenses narrowed.

Wade nodded. “I’m down. It’s been a while since I’ve bottomed, though.”

Spidey’s head tilted again. After a beat, his lenses widened. “That’s not what --” He threw his hands up. “What did you want to talk about?”

[‘Something.’]

{lol.}

“You could try being supportive for once in your miserable, pathetic life,” Wade hissed to his side.

“If we’re going to talk, you have to take out the earpiece.” Spidey made a motion to his ear.

“The. . . earpiece?”

He nodded once.

{OMG he thinks we’re talking to you through an earpiece!}

[You have to love rationalization.]

Wade knew what Spidey meant. He was just used to people assuming he was crazy.

[Well. They’re not wrong.]

“Okay. Fine.” Careful to avoid showing any sliver of skin, Wade reached a hand under his mask. He pretended to pull out an earpiece and stuff it in a pouch.

Those big lenses continued staring at him.

“I’m earpieceless, Spidey. I have ears only for you.”

{Okay, rude. I’m right here, big guy.}

[We’re brainwaves, not soundwaves.]

{Like there’s a difference.}

Spidey sat down on the nasty, shit-coated, vomit-smelling-and-inducing concrete and patted the spot next to him. Wade plopped down next to him and patted his legs, glancing around the alley, everywhere except Spidey’s face.

Spidey inhaled loudly. “Before you say whatever it is you’re about to say, you need to know that this city is under my protection --”

“Even the pigeons know that,” Wade responded dryly.

His lenses narrowed in a glare. “If you cause problems or if you try to stab me again, I will make you pay.”

“Cash or credit? I could maybe do Venmo.”

“Believe me when I say that it’ll cost you an arm and a leg.” There was not much white left in those lenses. Wade swallowed hard.

{I’m hard, too.}

[Nobody needed to know that.]

“Well, I do have plenty of those. I hear you loud and clear, Spidey. Not to worry, I’ll treat your city with tender, loverlike care. Some of the assholes within it, I can’t promise the same. But I mean the ones who are nothing but asshole. Only those ones.” Wade stuck out a hand to seal the deal.

Spidey hesitated before bumping a fist into it. “I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“Where will the other seven be, bug boy?” Wade grinned, leaning slightly into Spidey’s space.

“Jealous?” His mask stretched in what Wade assumed was a grin.

“I thought we had a special frenemesis thing going, but I’ll be okay.” Wade rubbed at an itch on his nose, failing to get a satisfying scratch while wearing a mask and gloves. 

“But I do have some information and a special, one-time, half-price offer just for you. I happened to get this drug bust job -- Do you remember Howie? The short Filipino person with the amazingly spiky hair? I don’t know how they get it like that. They were doing coke in an alley. Remember them?”

“Yeah, I remember Howie.” Spidey had relaxed where he was sitting, now leaning his head back against the bricks.

“Cool. Turns out their dealer was involved with this organization that’s been using the snow to administrate a. . .” Wade waved his hand vaguely. “mutation inducer to people. Then they stuffed the people into vans and brought them to the basement of a warehouse where they are now torturing them and experimenting on them. I only got Howie out so far.” Wade paused to gulp in air and look over at Spidey.

[That was quite the rundown.]

{It’s like a ‘previously on. . .’ except in the middle of the fucking episode.}

“How long has this been going on?”

Wade held out his hands and shrugged. “I got some info, but not enough to pin down any specifics. I was hoping you could help with that. That’s the discount offer bit I mentioned.”

Spidey gazed across the alley and ran a hand over the back of his neck. There was a drawn-out pause.

{Awkward silence.}

“Okay. I’m in.”

Wade fist pumped. “Whoo!”

[Tone it down there, Wade.]

Spidey laughed and leaned forward to stand up.

“Oh, wait.” He reached out to grab Spidey’s arm, but he flinched. Wade withdrew his hand. “Sorry. There’s one more thing you should know about.”

Spidey made a ‘go-on’ gesture and watched Wade.

“There was also someone hired by this organization to watch you and gather intel about your powers and shit.”

Spidey perked up, leaning forward from his bricken backrest. “I _do_ know about that. I found the person the other day, and I think it’s safe to say they won’t be following me anymore.”

[Um. What?]

{I don’t remember that happening. Surely it wasn’t while. . . we were improving on our suicide streak?}

[Well, a dead person can’t follow someone, so I suppose it’s possible.]

Or Spidey had the wrong person. Or maybe there was another person, but Wade hadn’t found any files mentioning someone else currently following Spidey. 

“Oh, great. I guess that problem is solved, then. Now we can focus on the good part. Can I have your number so we can plan a planning sesh?” Wade rummaged through his pouches for a crayon. He only found a pen. Shame. He didn’t even know he carried pens.

[That’s the one we stole from the burglar.]

He handed the pen and a scrap of paper to Spidey, who scratched a number onto it. A few holes dotted the paper since Spidey had written over his leg, but it was legible.

Wade folded it and put it in his pouch. “You already have my number if you want to contact me first. I still can’t believe you didn’t call back. I gave you the official little DP card and everything.”

Spidey scratched his arm. “Oh. Yeah. It was a good card. I should get some of those for myself.”

“It would be good for your brand. They could say ‘Call 1-800-555-bugs for any pests you need icided.’” Wade waved a hand as if the writing was in the air.

“I’m not an exterminator. I am what most people want exterminated.” Spidey was laughing, and Wade felt his stomach flutter.

{He has such a goofy laugh. I’m in love.}

[You’re hopeless.]

“But the bad guys are the pests in this scenario! Ooh, you could do ‘Revenge of Arachnikid: the exterminated becomes the exterminator!’” Wade watched as Spidey shook his head and laughed.

“That sounds more like a movie title.” Spidey went silent and stood up, muscles tense. “Someone’s in trouble. I have to go. I’ll text you.”

The webslinger climbed up the wall and disappeared onto the roof.

\---

Wade didn’t receive a text that night, but he assumed Spidey was a busy bug with more important things. Besides, he was ready to sleep. A rescue mission and ten suicides is a lot of action for one day. He changed into a fresh Deadpool mask and gloves, sweatpants, and a long-sleeved tee and collapsed into bed.

A crash of glass and drywall startled Wade awake. He grabbed the gun under his pillow and pointed aimlessly into the dark room. He caught sight of a soft glow outside the window and shifted his aim.

A red and gold figure flew into his room, his repulsors scorching Wade’s floor. Iron Man. He landed in front of Wade’s bed as Wade fired a round into the titanium-alloy-whatever-the-shit suit. The bullets ricocheted in all directions in the room. One lodged itself in Wade’s thigh, and he clenched his teeth.

Iron Mannequin shot something out of the wrist of his suit, and white hot heat shot through Wade before he tumbled into the inky darkness of Death’s cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o
> 
> This was so much fun to write. I really hope you liked it.  
> We finally reached some level of friendship between DP and Spidey. Very exciting, but they still have a long way to go.
> 
> Next chapter: mission rescue Deadpool, Tony's back, ye olde 9 to 5
> 
> With joy,  
> Kenwick


	8. Knight in Shining Spandex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: N/A
> 
> I had to read back through this chapter again before putting my beginning notes because I couldn't believe there was actually no violence. It's a first.

Golden light streamed in through Peter’s window when he woke up. He rolled out of bed and closed the window before changing into a graphic tee and jeans. As he sat down to eat a bowl of oatmeal, he pulled out his -- Spider-Man’s -- phone to check for a message from Deadpool. He hadn’t received anything, but he had told the mercenary he would text, so it wasn’t too surprising. Peter rubbed his thumb along the side of the phone absentmindedly as he thought back to the conversation. 

His spidey senses had signalled that someone was in distress in the alley, but Peter almost left when he saw who it was. Talking to Deadpool turned out to be. . . nice, though. More importantly, he had information that Peter could use to save some unknown number of people. What better way to keep an eye on a potential threat than to work side-by-side with them?

Peter scraped the bowl clean before washing it. His stomach growled for another, but he was running low on food after paying rent. It was time for another dreaded trip to the  _ Daily Bugle _ .

\---

Peter trudged through the hall toward Jameson’s office. Victor Pei waved at him as he walked, and he smiled back. When he had a full-time job at the Bugle, Victor had been his closest colleague and a friend.

Peter rapped on Jameson’s door and waited for the usual angry yell before opening the door.

“Parker! It’s about time. Do you have the proof I asked for?” Jameson was writing a mile a minute in a notebook and taking intermittent sips of coffee. He hadn’t looked up when Peter entered, so he wasn’t sure how he knew it was him.

“No, more of the regular.” Peter set down a stack of photos on the desk.

Jameson grunted. “Without my spins, your pictures would be dead. Scandal sells. Remember that, Parker.” He flipped through the pictures with his lip curled in a look of disgust. “Look at Spider-Menace strutting around like he owns the city. It’s disgusting is what it is. But there is good news, Parker. This documented murder is getting through to those starry-eyed followers Spider-Menace has. We’re finally making progress.”

Peter listened with a clenched jaw as he rambled on. He had heard it all before, and he would hear it all again. Jameson always thought that the most recent scandal would be the final straw that would bring down Spider-Man once and for all. Peter had learned to let his actions speak for themselves and focused on helping people, not on correcting rumors.

“Back to work. Get me pictures that will sell themselves for once.” Jameson dismissed him with a shoo of his hand.

\---

While he was walking back to his apartment, his phone rang. “Hello. This is. . .” He paused to check which phone he was holding, but before he could continue, Tony’s assistant spoke from the other end.

“Hello, Mr. Spider-Man. This is Renée. I’m going to patch you through to Mr. Stark. Give me just a moment.”

There was a moment of silence before Tony’s voice spilled through the phone. He sounded excited about something. “Hey, Peter. No need to come to the tower. I just wanted to talk to you for a sec.” Tony took in a deep breath. “I did it, kid. You’re off the hook. We have Deadpool now, and we’re taking care of things from here.”

Peter’s heart dropped to his stomach. He needed Deadpool. He didn’t have the information to get into the organization. Hell, he didn’t even know where it was. Taking a steadying breath, Peter replied in what he hoped was a normal tone. “That’s great. Is he already with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Nice. Real subtle, Parker. He ran a hand through his hair.

“No, I have him at the tower for now. But don’t worry about it. I have everything under control. I know how you like to handle matters in New York City, but this turned out to be quick and easy.”

A brief hum of warning shot through Peter before someone bumped into him. He had been standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Hot coffee splattered to the ground and on Peter’s shoes, steaming into the cold air.

“Sorry, sorry.” Peter stepped to the side to lean against a wall, grounding himself. “I have to go, but thanks for letting me know, Tony. You, uh, you can let me know if you ever need anything else.”

“Thanks, kid. Take care of yourself.” He ended the call.

Peter ran the rest of the way to his apartment. He needed a plan.

\---

Peter sat perched on the top of Stark Tower in his suit. His laptop was open on his crossed legs.

Over the past decade, Peter had spent enough time in the tower to know the possible locations Deadpool was being held at, and he knew the quickest routes to them. He started by hacking into Tony’s security cameras and shuffling through to find the feed that showed Deadpool. 

The mercenary was tied to a chair in a glass room. He was wearing mostly normal clothes, except for his mask, and kept slipping a gloved finger into his sleeve to poke at something. He appeared unharmed, at least. It wasn’t one of the most secure places, by any means, but Peter would still need to be diligent with his plan. Once he mapped out his route, he set up the feed to loop through the past ten minutes and hoped that Tony didn’t have plans to interrogate anytime too soon.

He swung in through a window into a lab that was almost never used. Pulling a panel out, he slid into the system of tunnels that Tony had created three years ago for emergencies. Tony had the idea after he almost failed to get his tower back from an extraterrestrial invasion. Only select heroes knew about the system, and Jarvis monitored it. The AI would alert Tony if anyone who wasn’t authorized was crawling through. Peter didn’t have to worry about that on his way in, but getting out with Deadpool would be trickier.

Peter popped up into the cell, sliding the panel to the side. Aware of the limited time, he immediately got to work on Deadpool’s bonds. He was facing away from Peter and yelped when he grabbed at the carbon steel cuffs.

Peter pulled back his hands for a moment. “Sorry. It’s Spider-Man. I’m here to bust you out.” He broke the cuffs with a turn of his wrist, trying to avoid twisting the snapped metal into Deadpool’s arms or hands.

He cooed and craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Peter. “My knight in shining spandex. Did you already take care of the dragon guarding the tower, or is that still on the to-do list?” He was speaking at a higher-pitch than normal and with an English accent, supposedly trying to imitate a princess.

Peter ran a finger along more carbon steel restraints securing Deadpool’s biceps. His muscles were flexed against them, trying to pull free now that his hands were released. Peter’s throat dried.

He shook his head to clear it. Not the time nor the place. He was on the clock and needed to stay focused. Sticking both hands to the steel, he yanked them in opposite directions, and the band pulled apart with a creak. Deadpool made a sharp noise and jumped up in his seat. The process repeated with the other arm. All that was left was the legs.

He kneeled on the ground in front of Deadpool and reached down to break the band around an ankle. Deadpool patted Peter’s head with his now free hand. Peter should have freed his limbs in the opposite order.

“Oh, Spidey, my Spidey. I can’t believe you came for me.” After a pause, Deadpool snorted and whispered ‘good one.’ Had Tony not taken out his earpiece? That seemed like quite the oversight for him. 

“Hey, Spidey, I could make you come later, too.” Deadpool was wiggling in his seat and holding back laughter.

“Not if I leave you here to figure your own damn way out of the building. Shut up and stay still.” Peter pulled apart the last band with just a little more force than was maybe absolutely necessary. Deadpool yelped.

Peter hopped into the tunnel and heard Deadpool drop in behind him. The timer had started.

“Aren’t you worried the Man of Aluminum is gonna take out his rage boner on you?”

Peter sighed. “He’ll just have to deal with it. Besides, I looped his security feed, so he won’t know I was involved.” He could probably figure it out still; there was quite the coincidence of Deadpool escaping not even hours after Tony called Peter, and the broken restraints narrowed the search down a bit, too. Still, Peter hoped Tony wouldn’t even consider him a possibility.

“Ooh, you’re a  _ clever _ bug, too. I might have to start calling you ‘Spyder-Man' with all your techy trickery.”

Peter made a succession of tight turns through the tunnels, feeling the vibrations of Deadpool’s footsteps following behind without stumbling or pausing. “That  _ is _ what most people call me.”

He felt a shift in the vibrations behind him and turned to see Deadpool shrug out of the corner of his eye. “The readers get it.”

Peter pushed against the wall, bumping a panel out of the way. They exited the tunnel in the same lab Peter had entered earlier. The camera feed was also looped here, but Peter assumed they didn’t have long before security guards were swarming even this long-forgotten room. He walked to the open window and held a hand out in Deadpool’s direction.

“Are we re-enacting that King Kong scene? I don’t think it’ll be as iconic if I’m not wearing the dress, but we can try.” He stepped forward to grab Peter’s hand as he spoke.

Peter put Deadpool’s hand on his shoulder. “More like baby-gorilla style. Hop on.” He turned so his back was to Deadpool and he was facing the window. Once he was on, Peter crawled out the window, sticking his hands to the glass exterior of the tower.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” Deadpool shifted on his back, interrupting Peter’s balance.

He climbed the building slowly, adjusting for the added weight, which kept  _ wiggling _ . “Stop moving around so much.” Peter stopped his ascent and used a hand to grab Deadpool’s thigh and hold him still.

“ _ Ow _ . Be gentle with me, Webs. I was electrocuted  _ twice _ in one chapter, thanks to the knockoff heartless Tin Man, and I couldn’t even do my skin-care routine today cause he wouldn’t let me out of his bondage scene.”

Peter returned his hand to the side of the building to continue climbing. Thankfully, the movements stopped, but he could feel Deadpool practically vibrating with effort on his back. “Stark electrocuted you?” He seemed fine, but Peter was still surprised by the rather extreme method from Tony.

“I know, right! Rude,” Deadpool scoffed.

“You should charge him with battery,” Peter joked as he pulled them over the edge onto the top of the building.

“I wasn’t phased, so watt’s the point?” Deadpool answered without missing a beat. He rolled off of him and groaned. “Seriously, fuck. Ow.”

Peter’s laughter fizzled. Deadpool seemed to be in a lot of pain. Did Tony really put him through actual electrocution? He felt better about freeing Tony’s S.H.I.E.L.D.-destined prisoner now that he had seen what exactly ‘taking care of things’ entailed.

“Why did you carry me all the way up here? Don’t we need to get  _ away _ from the tower?” Deadpool was laying down with one knee crossed over the other and his foot tapping rhythmically. He had socks on but no shoes.

“I have to grab the tech I used for my ‘techy trickery.’ You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Peter changed the camera feed back to normal and folded his laptop to put it in his bag.

Deadpool threw his hands up. “I had a plan! But thank you.”

“Ready to go?” Peter held out a hand again.

“I can do it myself, sweet spider.” Deadpool hopped up and climbed onto Peter’s back. His hands gripped Peter’s shoulders tightly, but gloves still slipped over spandex. Peter concentrated and stuck to Deadpool, giving him a more secure grip.

Without warning, Peter ran to the edge of the roof and jumped off, shooting a web to a building he knew would catch him and give him just the right arc. Years of experience as well as his familiarity with the area made web-swinging natural and reflexive for him.

After swinging a few blocks, Peter realized he had no idea where he was supposed to be going. He had fallen into habit and was heading toward the park near his apartment to swing around a bit for the tourists. That would probably do more harm than good for the general public since he had a deadly mercenary on his back.

He slowed his swings and landed on the sidewalk, taking a few steps forward to compensate for the momentum. He unstuck from Deadpool to allow him to climb off before turning around. “Do you want me to take you somewhere? We could do some planning for the mutation drug if you want. But I totally understand if you’ve had enough for the day. We could just plan to meet up sometime.”

“Nah, it’s fine. You would not believe my stamina. Could we go back to my place, though? I really do need to do my skin-care routine before collapse from the pain and leave you to drag around a limp body. I would hate to damage my favorite arachnid’s reputation.”

Was that a jab at Spider-Man ‘murdering’ someone on camera? Peter narrowed his eyes. “My reputation has taken worse.” Deadpool tilted his head slightly and gave Peter a look. It didn’t appear to hold any malice. He probably hadn’t meant his comment to come off that way. Plenty of people (rightfully) ignored Jameson and the like.

“Was it leaked nudes? Not sure why that’s so scandalous to people, but whatevs. Alright, follow me.” Deadpool waved an arm and turned on a heel to walk down the sidewalk. He continued complaining about Tony while they walked until he paused and fell into a brief silence before he asked, “Why did you rescue me, Webs?”

Well, shit. He didn’t want to say that it was just because he needed Deadpool’s information, but that was the truth, wasn’t it? He could make something up about how he and Tony were in a prank war, or maybe he could just say that he was worried about Deadpool. No, that did not sound believable. What could he say about how he even knew the mercenary was in Stark Tower in the first --

“Alright, then. Keep your secrets.” Deadpool laughed and sped up a bit, jogging to a door. His laugh yanked Peter out of his spiralling thoughts, but a pit in his stomach remained.

They walked up a few flights of stairs with only one strange look from a person, which was less than Peter expected considering they were both in suit. The people in the city tended to mind their own business, though.

Deadpool unlocked a door and pushed it open with a sweep of his arm. “Welcome. Mi casa es tu casa and all that good stuff. I’m just gonna diddly hop on over to the shitting room, and I’ll be right back.” He ran out of sight, and Peter heard a door slam.

He was left in the kitchen and living room space. It was nice, if not plain and slightly messy with takeout containers. Everything in the room looked like basic stuff you would find at an Ikea with very little to signify that there was a person living there. Peter did notice several items that were themed to Hello Kitty, the Golden Girls, and superheroes. There was a Wolverine onesie laid out like a rug in the kitchen. Peter stepped over it to plop down on a barstool and wait for Deadpool to return.

He walked back out in his full Deadpool outfit except for his feet which were in socks and Crocs. “Do you want food? I can order pizza or something.”

Peter’s stomach growled at the idea. “That sounds good.”

Deadpool asked him what he wanted and called up a pizza place to order food. Once he finished, he walked into a room and came back out with a rolling board covered in parchment paper. 

“I set up a planning board for us. I even got you your own crayon bucket and everything.” Deadpool held up two Easter baskets filled with crayons and stickers. “Here, catch.” He threw one of the baskets at Peter. He caught it, but items had tumbled out and through the air, crashing spectacularly as the doorbell rang. 

While Deadpool rushed to answer it, Peter picked up broken bits of crayons and put them in his basket, which he noticed had his superhero persona on it in a cartoon style. He looked over at Deadpool’s, and sure enough, it was Deadpool themed. His was homemade, though, with paper cutouts and sharpie drawings. Peter felt a twinge of disappointment that Deadpool hadn’t been able to find one for himself.

“Pizza pie for the cutie pie! Here you are, Spidey.” Deadpool handed him a box and sat down next to him with one of his own.

Rolling his mask up to his nose, Peter shoved pizza into his face as fast as he could swallow it. He tore through half the pizza before remembering the manners May had taught him and slowing down.

Deadpool explained the situation further with animated movements while Peter was eating, and he stood up to draw a map on the board with red crayon. His own pizza remained untouched on the kitchen counter.

While Deadpool was in the middle of illustrating his idea for getting in, Peter’s phone rang. It was Tony. Would it be too suspicious to ignore him after Deadpool somehow escaped his high-security tower? Probably.

“Sorry, Deadpool. I have to take this.” Peter answered the call and held the phone to his ear. “Hello? Tony?”

“Hey, kid. As much as I enjoy a bit of a technical challenge, I did not appreciate you breaking into my tower to release an incredibly dangerous mercenary back onto the streets where thousands of civilians are now in danger.” Tony sounded pissed, and he definitely knew that Peter had helped Deadpool.

“Deadpool escaped?” Peter feigned confusion, but Tony just sounded angrier.

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid. I’m too smart for that, and _ you’re _ too smart for that. I have secure backup cameras, and I have ways to find out who fucking  _ hacked _ my security! Not to mention Jarvis keeps tabs on everyone who uses my tunnels.”

“Okay, fine. But you electrocuted somebody! You left out that detail when you were letting me know I was ‘off the hook.’” Peter jabbed out quotation marks in the air, and Deadpool snickered.

“He’s fine, isn’t he?” Tony asked as if he already knew the answer. 

Peter rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe Tony cared so little about harming a person. “Yes, he’s fine. But just because somebody gets better doesn’t mean it’s okay for you hurt them.”

“Oh my god. Spidey is defending our honor,” Deadpool squealed.

“Are you with him right now?” And Peter thought Tony was pissed before. The rage that coated every word caused Peter to flinch back.

He waved a hand at Deadpool to try to get him to shut up. He kept mumbling to himself. Peter sighed. “Yes, I am. And we’re both fine.”

“You aren’t going to bring him back in, are you?” Tony was quieter now.

“No. I think you -- or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whoever -- pegged him wrong. He deserves a chance.”

Deadpool laughed. “You could peg me the right way, Spidey.”

Peter walked to another room but didn’t bother to look around to figure out which room it was. He rubbed a hand over his forehead before continuing. “He has good intentions, he’s trying to help, and he has valuable information. I get that he’s killed people, okay? But so have plenty of heroes, and what better way to handle this than to give him a chance to prove himself while I’m there to keep an eye on him?”

There was nearly a full minute of silence from Tony’s end. Peter started when he finally spoke. “Okay. I trust you, and I’m willing to go with your judgement here -- for now. I’ll have Jarvis keep an eye on him while he’s in the city and let you know if I notice anything. Beyond that, he’s your responsibility now.”

Peter drooped with relief. “Thank you, Tony.”

“I won’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. know about any of this. They’re gonna be pissed that merc got away, but hey, sucks. The lot can be a bunch of assholes anyway. For all they’ll know, Deadpool managed to get himself out of the situation.” Tony paused. “Just be careful, Peter.”

Peter nodded before remembering Tony couldn’t see him. “I will. You, too. Thank you.”

“Bye, kid.”

“Bye.”

Peter hung up and walked back to the kitchen. Deadpool was standing at the counter with his back to him. “Hey, man. Sorry about that.”

Deadpool made a few jerky movements before turning around. His hands were at his mask, adjusting the way it sat on his face. “No worries. What did Chrome McDonald’s want?”

“He was just upset because I broke into his tower and freed you, but I took care of it.” Peter grabbed another piece of his pizza and shoved half the slice in his mouth. “So what’s the plan for getting back out?

Deadpool clapped his hands. “I’m glad you asked. Once we have collected all the unfortunate souls -- are you happy now?” he spoke to the side before continuing, “-- we will use this route to exit. I will act as a human shield of sorts and go ahead while you take care of the rest of the group.” He had run back over to the board and was gesturing to little drawings he had made while Peter had been talking to Tony.

“Sorry to get off topic, but do you just keep your earpiece in constantly? That must be annoying after a while.” Peter had enough trouble with his hypersensitivity to sound. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to keep a conversation while your guy in the chair was constantly talking to you.

“Oh it is.  _ Very _ annoying.” Deadpool said pointedly.

Peter nodded. “So why do you do it?”

Deadpool walked back over from the board and sat in the stool next to Peter. “The dirtswabs on the other end don’t give me much of a choice.”

Peter squinted and thought about it for a moment. He had assumed that the people on the other end worked for Deadpool, helped to guide him from the background. Deadpool made it sound more like he worked for them. “Couldn’t you just. . .” He made crushing motion with his hand.

Deadpool watched him in silence. Turning away, he stood up to walk back to the board. He seemed to be set on moving past Peter’s last question. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll blow a hole in this baby right here. That’ll give everyone a way back if they have a way to protect the exit.”

They continued discussing plans until the sun sank far below the horizon.

\---

The walk back to his apartment wasn’t far, but the route was one he didn’t normally take. He soaked in the sight of streetlights reflecting on wet asphalt and hoped that the moisture was from water and not oil or urine.

A wall he passed had a few layers of fliers pinned and glued to it. One in particular caught his eye. Someone must have been desperate for a wedding photographer -- maybe someone had bailed on them -- because there was an ad for a wedding that was going to happen in less than a week. They only asked for example pictures as reference and would do a practice shoot for an interview. Peter snapped a picture of the ad and continued his stroll to his apartment with a new levity.

Any photography job that wasn’t for Jameson was sure to be an improvement.

\---

Peter put his leftover pizza in the fridge once he got home. Deadpool had insisted and had even given him the leftovers from his own pizza, which he had barely touched. Although Peter felt a bit guilty about leeching off of his kindness, he was glad to have food in his kitchen.

He pulled out his phone to call Kat. They hadn’t talked in a couple days, and he knew she wanted to sort out the details for their date at the museum. His heart rose to his throat just thinking about it. It felt nice to have someone to share his scientific interests with. He only wished that he could share the more arachnoid parts of himself as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I owe a huge thank you at this point to everyone who has read, given kudos and/or comments, and subscribed. I am so honored by your support. You keep me writing on a regular(ish) schedule. You are the stick and carrot to my horse, and I cannot thank you enough. :)
> 
> I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
> 
> Next chapter: chimichangas, best laid plans, another rescue mission
> 
> Reverently yours,  
> Kenwick


	9. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: flashbacks, trauma, minor violence, dehumanizing language, human experimentation**
> 
> This chapter is grim, y’all. I will provide a summary at the end in case anyone wants to skip parts or all of it and continue to the rest of the story.

Wade sipped on a beer while he watched the regulars and the noobs move through Sister Margaret’s. Once Weasel set Dopinder up to handle the bar for a few hours, he walked over to Wade’s booth and slid into the seat across from him.

{Shove your bottle into his smarmy face.}

Wade dismissed the idea easily, aware that Yellow was in one of their moods that day.

{Fuck you, too.}

Weasel watched Wade for a moment. “God, Wade. You look like if the moon was actually made of fucking cheese, but like moldy blue cheese crumbled up and soaked in curdled milk.”

Wade smacked his bottle down on the table, which caused Weasel to jolt in his seat. “Yeah, I am well aware.”

“No, but seriously. You look like Freddy Krueger if he had two botched plastic surgeries and then died of leprosy and has now been decomposing for six months.” Weasel looked away from Wade to take a sip of his own drink.

“That was an elaborate and specific way of saying I look like shit, and again, I am _well aware_ ,” Wade growled, tugging his mask back down to cover all of his face. Yellow and Weasel combined were making him long for a guillotine. He hadn’t decided whose head he would want to lop off yet -- Weasel’s or his own.

“There aren’t enough words to describe just how shitty you look. Just keep the mask on while you’re in here. I can’t have you scaring off customers.”

Wade looked around the room then back at Weasel. Then back at the room. The crowd here was one that had experience spilling people’s guts in the most literal sense. Just cause Weasel had a soft belly didn’t mean that the customers couldn't handle a little disfigurement.

[A lot. So much disfigurement. There’s basically no figure left.]

{You look so much worse than spilled guts, you pile of absolute human garbage.}

Wade smacked his head with an open palm. He could feel the boxes shaking with anger in his mind. He needed a drink, and not that shitty beer that did nothing because of his so-called 'super' metabolism.

“Weasel. Give me that case of Asgardian Ale I know you keep in the back.”

Weasel adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “I don’t have any left. Fang bought me out.” He was a terrible liar. His eyes darted back and forth, and he squirmed like a hairy, pink larva.

[Like the weasel he is.]

Wade left the booth to grab the bottle for himself. With Weasel hovering over his shoulder wringing his hands, Wade rummaged through the back room. It didn’t take long for him to find the case since it was in the same spot he had glimpsed it earlier.

{Chug. Chug. Chug. Guzzle it down your disgusting gullet, you limpdick pervert.}

Still standing in the storage room, Wade tipped a bottle back and took a long drink. Weasel stayed only long enough to scoff at Wade before he returned to his job at the bar.

Wade dropped a stack of bills on the bar as he strode out of Sister Margaret’s. He sipped the ale throughout the walk home. By the time he arrived, he felt flushed and like he was floating. Tilting back another he chugged the ale, relishing the burn against his throat.

{Thank Thor. It’s been too long since we’ve had a good drink. Let’s go fuck some shit up, make it more fun.}

[Stab Spider-Man. Finish out the job.]

“The job was _recon_ , White.” Wade’s words slurred together. His tongue felt thick in his throat, and the room was tilting like a fun house, except not as fun.

{Fucking lightweight. You’re useless.}

The voices pounded against his head, shaking the already spinning room. Wade brought another bottle to his mouth with a leaden hand.

[Even your parents didn’t want you. They saw the monster you are. What makes you think he’ll be any different? Hurt him before he has the chance to hurt you. It’s the only way.]

White was right. Everyone knew Wade was a monster. Spidey was just using him, anyway. He knew it. He didn’t care. No one would stick around if he wasn’t useful, so he had learned to be useful.

{She still didn’t stick around.}

 _Mom_. Wade fell over onto the couch, staring forward with dead eyes. Everything was dark, and the spinning wouldn’t stop. His stomach turned with the room.

He flinched when he heard a door slam. The familiar thump of boots against wooden floors reverberated through him. He tried to stand, to get away, but the room shifted beneath his feet and he crashed into something. Glass shattered somewhere near his head.

Dad scoffed and spat phlegm in his direction. “You’re pathetic, boy. Grab me a beer. Make yourself useful.” His voice was slurred and harsh. He must have just been at the bar with Mr. Phil. Wade crawled toward the fridge but felt the crushing weight of a boot on his back.

Everything was stifling, the air hot and heavy around him. He felt a flash of pain in his palms when he tried to pull himself forward. The boot left his back to stomp repeatedly against his legs, leaving throbbing pain everywhere they attacked.

He covered the back of his head with his hands, taking shuddering breaths against the dirty strips of wood. Dad would stop eventually. He always did.

“Wade, sweetie. Come here,” Mom cooed at him. Her voice sounded like spring, fresh and light. Wade lifted his head, staring into her pale, scratched face. She stood above him with her arms outstretched, ready to hold him. Dad’s boots pinned him, keeping him away from her.

“Mama.” Wade sat back on his feet and stretched his hands out to her, making grabby hands so she would know to pick him up and comfort him in the way only she knew how. He was surprised to feel cloth on his hands, muffling his movements.

Mama smiled at him and knelt down. “No, Deadpool. It’s me. We had plans to meet today.” Her voice was different somehow. And she wasn’t calling him the right thing. 

“Remember, sweetie?” There. That was her.

Wade rolled onto his side, reaching for her. He let out little choked sobs when she didn’t reach back. He needed her. Why wasn’t she reaching back?

Her face twisted into something darker. “I could never love something so _vile_ ,” she spat. “Look at you. You’re a monster now.” Her voice was venom, her smile fanged. She couldn’t leave Wade. _No_. Don’t go.

“Mama!” he cried out to her, letting out pathetic sobs so that she would just _stay_.

“Shh. Hey, it’s okay.” Hands touched him under his back and legs, peeling him off the floor. That wasn’t Mama. Those weren’t her hands.

Wade screamed. He screamed till his lungs were empty and all that was left was wet, snotty gasping. By the time he stopped, the hands were gone. He lay snivelling on the floor, curled up against himself with his hands covering his head.

He couldn’t hear Dad anymore. He had probably collapsed on the couch for the night. Wade needed to make dinner for Mom. She would still be in the bedroom with the glazed look in her eyes. That’s how Wade had found her when he got home. 

He rubbed his face to dry it, but there was cloth covering his hands and face. It felt sticky with something. Sitting up, Wade felt at his hands, unsure why they were covered but certain that they needed to be that way. Something very bad would happen if he took them off. He knew it.

“Are you. . . feeling better?” Wade whipped around, but everything was still dark in the house. Had one of Mom’s friends come over? That hadn’t happened in months. “Do you know where you are?” Wade didn’t recognize the voice, but it sounded calm.

When he tried to open his mouth to ask who the person was, his mouth felt thick, and his throat was closed tight. Nothing came out. He started breathing faster. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Had Dad choked him again? He didn’t remember it happening.

“You’re safe. You might not know me, but I’m Spider-Man. I’ll stay over here, okay?” The voice spoke softly from a few paces in front of Wade. He nodded. He began to breathe right again.

Time passed. He didn’t know how long. The world around him began to still and clear. Pain lingered in his hands and legs. He blinked hard. His eyes felt dry and his eyelids heavy. 

A red and blue figure came into focus in front of him, sitting with crossed legs and hands in their lap. Spidey. How long had he been there?

[Wade? Are you back online yet?]

White sounded muffled, but his voice broke through the hurricane left in Wade’s head.

{He’s back. Took him long enough.}

[Spider-Man’s going to hate us now.]

{You fucked up, big guy. Now he knows just how fucking insane you are.}

Wade clutched his head and shook it back and forth with his eyes squished shut. This was so much worse than dying. At least dying gave him a peaceful break from the boxes, however brief it was.

{ _♪_ _Why you gotta be so rude._ _♪_ }

[We already have a headache. Shut your mouth for once.]

{Don’t have a mouth. But since you asked so nicely. . .}

Wade opened his eyes to peek out. Spider-Man was sitting in the same spot. With a deep breath, Wade tried to speak again. No luck. Instead, he waved a shaky hand at Spidey to let him know he was back. He wanted to crawl into a hole in a galaxy far, far away to avoid this interaction. Spidey, on the other hand, seemed intent on sticking around for it.

He waved back at Wade. “Do you know where you are?” 

Wade nodded and tried to stand up. His legs collapsed under him, sending him sprawling back onto the floor. Useless fucking body. He was just a scarred pile of useless.

Spidey had stood up on his beautiful, functioning legs and was standing closer to Wade now. His hand was hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do. “Do you want me to help you get to the couch?”

No. Wade wanted to get on the couch by his own self, fuck you very much. He didn’t need Spidey’s pity. He reached behind him to grab the couch cushion and tried to pull himself up. It didn’t work. Nothing was working.

{Aww. Is baby gonna cry?}

Wade blinked back the tears that were about to brim over. He sniffled as quietly as he could.

[Which is, evidently, not quietly at all.]

Spidey rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you want to go get food? I know I always get hungry after a panic attack. I guess I’m always hungry, but. . . especially after a panic attack? I don’t know, I just thought it might help.”

Now that the tumbling nausea in Wade’s gut had mostly dissipated, he was hungry. But mostly he just wanted to sleep. Everything felt heavy, and he was already struggling to keep his eyes open. He tried to ask if they could order in food, but nothing came out. Fucking hell. He nodded, glad that Spidey asked a yes-no question.

{Anything else and you’d be too fucking dumb to understand.}

Now closer to Wade, Spidey sat down again. He scratched his scalp but didn’t say anything. He looked like he was thinking. Wade leaned his head back against the front of the couch to rest.

[He shouldn’t be here. You’re going to hurt him.]

“You don’t have any food here, so we’ll have to go get something.”

Wade closed his eyes. He was not ready to go out.

{Toughen up, little baby. This is our chance to get a sneak peak at that fantabul-ass.}

He moved his tongue in his mouth, testing how it felt. His throat felt looser and his tongue more normally sized. 

“Can we order in?” His voice was a croak, and it cracked like he was in fucking puberty again. He blushed, glad to have a mask to hide it (and the snot and tears that had dried to his face).

“Oh! Sorry. Yeah, that makes sense. Where do you want food from?” Spidey kept his voice quiet, but it was also happy and light. He did sound a lot like -- no. Wade wasn’t gonna go there, not now. She was gone.

Wade cleared his throat. “There’s a Mexican joint down the street, just a couple buildings down. They have chimichangas.” He paused, thinking about the way the word rolled over his tongue. “That’s a sexy word. Chimichangas.”

{Not as sexy as Carlo’s Carn--}

[Shut the fuck up, Yellow.]

Spidey laughed, making the corners of Wade’s mouth lift. His stomach turned again, but it was different this time. Brushing off his suit, Spidey stood up. “Alright. I’ll swing over and get some stuff for us. You want chimichangas?”

Wade nodded gleefully. “And burritos.”

“Do you want help getting on the couch, or to bed or something?”

Wade smirked. “Oh, I’d love you to help me in bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows a couple times to punctuate his point. Spidey snorted a laugh in response. In all seriousness, Wade could still barely move, but he wasn’t going to let Spidey know that.

[He can probably tell from the way you’re shaking like a wet dog.]

Wade glanced down and realized he was shaking against the couch uncontrollably. This was so fucking humiliating.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon with the food.” Spidey grabbed a blanket from the couch and handed it to him, letting it drape over his knees. It was softer than a cloud looked, so you really couldn’t blame Wade for nuzzling into it with his masked face. He wanted to go to the bathroom to wash off his crusty face, but his legs were still refusing to function.

By the time Spidey got back, Wade was nodding off, his face still buried in his favorite blanket. The scent of spicy meat stirred him.

{It’s stirring something in me.}

[I’m sure.]

“Do you want to eat on the floor?” Spidey sat down in his earlier spot, now holding a bag stuffed with food. Wade inhaled deeply, treasuring that heavenly aroma.

“No, I wan’ go on the couch.” He was too tired to think about what he said anymore. He just wanted a soft spot for his ass and warm food for his belly.

“Can I help?”

Wade nodded and held out his arms. Spidey picked him up and set him down on the couch. Wade sighed and sank into the decorative pillows. A partially-unwrapped burrito was held in front of his face. He grabbed it but didn’t move to lift his mask. Spidey was watching him too closely. He felt his heart rate rise, his chest thudding harshly.

“Are you okay? Are you not hungry?” Spidey’s lenses were narrowed in what Wade guessed was concern.

{Welcome to the pity party. You’re the main event.}

“It’s just the mask. . . I don’t want to take it off.”

Spidey perked up. “Secret identities. No worries, man. I understand. I’ve got one of my own, you know.” His mask stretched in a grin. “I can go eat outside and come back when you text me or something.”

Wade sat up with a groan, leaning heavily against the back of the couch. “No, it’s fine. You can just look the other way. You don’t have to go.” He hoped he wouldn’t go.

[Desperate much?]

Spidey shrugged and plopped down next to Wade. With his back turned toward him, he rolled up his own mask. Wade took a deep breath and waited a moment to make sure Spidey wasn’t going to turn back around. He tugged it over his nose and stuffed half the burrito in his mouth before yanking it back down.

Spidey hadn’t reacted. He was still munching on a taco. Wade pulled his mask back up and went to chow town on the pile of burritos and chimichangas Spidey had brought for him.

He was surprised when Spidey spoke again. “Is this why you didn’t eat your pizza the other day? You could have just told me.” He sounded hurt. Wade couldn’t figure out why. Spidey had gotten plenty of food.

“I ate what I wanted to.” Wade shrugged and stuffed another chimichanga into his mouth. Still chewing, he tugged his mask back into place, securely covering his face. Now that he had a full stomach, he was drowsier than ever. He curled into the couch, his feet tucked against Spidey’s thigh. 

Spidey shifted but didn’t move away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get to a wedding in, like, fifteen minutes.”

Wade mock-gasped. “Wow. You’re getting married and you didn’t even invite dear ol’ Deadpool?”

“Unless my girlfriend has some shocking news for me, I’m not getting married anytime soon.” Spidey chuckled.

Wade sat back up. “You have a girlfriend? Spill, babe! Who’s so lucky to be the Jane to your Tarzan, swinging around with you on your spider vines?”

Spidey looked up and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t really think I should say. I don’t want her to get in trouble because of me.”

Wade shrunk back. “Oh. Okay.”

“It’s not cause I think you’d be trouble! It’s just -- I’ve had people get hurt before because they were close to me.” Spidey covered his masked face with a hand and shoved a taco in his mouth to cut himself off.

[We are definitely trouble. He’s right to avoid us.]

{We would bring damnation on Spidey _and_ his girlfriend just by our proximity. He should get out now while he still can.}

Wade sighed. “No, I get it. It’s happened to me, too. You don’t have to explain, Itsy Bitsy.”

Spidey started to turn around before jerking back. He probably was worried about Wade's face.

“It’s cool, Spidey. I’m decent.” Wade waved a hand out to catch Spidey’s attention. He finished turning and looked at Wade with an expression he couldn’t read. Wade smiled. “You have a wedding to crash. Hup hup, don’t wanna overstay your welcome.”

Spidey grinned back, mouth still visible under his rolled-up mask. Wade stared in the not-creepy way.

[Any way you do it is creepy because, as we have already established, you’re a stalker.]

“I’ll stop by tomorrow to finalize our plans.” Spidey stood up and hesitated in front of Wade. “Let me know if you’re ever, you know, not doing great. If it happens again. I’d be happy to come over and just sit with you or whatever, if you want me to.”

Wade felt a pit in his stomach. He had almost managed to forget the state Spidey had found him in. He would never invite an incident like that again. 

“Thanks, Webs. I will.”

\---

The sun set about an hour after Spidey had left. Wade had taken an excellent power nap and cleaned his face, and now he was back on the streets, fresh and ready. Someone dropped their empty cup and spoon on the sidewalk and let it roll as they walked on, so Wade ‘dropped’ a bullet in their foot and picked up the cup to take it to the trash. “Litter is only for kitties.”

{Hell yeah.}

After a brief stop at a florist, Wade was back on his merry way. He ran up a dozen flights of stairs and walked onto a roof. They hadn’t yet started the construction work to fix the damage that Crimson Blaze had done up there. It all looked just as Wade had left it.

He kneeled down in the spot Crimson had been and placed down a bouquet of sweet peas tied with a red ribbon. The petals fluttered in the breeze. Other than that, everything was still, as if time itself had frozen and was watching Wade.

He pulled out a candle and a knife and set them on either side of the bouquet. He pulled out incense and offered it three times. Staring down at the blackened rooftop, he knew it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t make it enough, not for her.

He talked to her softly in Japanese. “I’m so sorry, Crimson. This was all my fault.” Wade sank to his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “You deserved the world, and I ripped you from it. I will remind Death to take care of you, wherever you are.” 

He was still for a few minutes before he stood up. “Goodbye, friend. I’ll be back soon.”

\---

He patrolled late into the night. He had thought Spidey would be busy all night, but just as he was about to head back he saw him webbing through the streets. Cupping his hands to his mouth, Wade prepared to call out to him, but then Spidey dropped from his strand of web onto the street below.

Wade rushed forward in time to see someone yank Spidey’s limp body into a van that he immediately recognized. Spidey wouldn’t be captured on his watch.

[These are the people who hired you. This is your fault.]

Which was why Wade would not let it happen. He jumped off the roof he was on, running on broken legs to reach Spidey in time. By the time he made it to the van, it was pulling away. He didn’t have much time.

He pulled out a tracker and ran with every ounce of strength he had to pin it to the underside of the van. He aimed a gun at the vehicle and shot two tires, but it kept moving away faster than he could keep up.

With a final crunch, Wade’s leg set itself.

He made it back to his apartment in record time. Once he shut the door, he dashed to his laptop and checked the information from his tracker. There was no time to wait for the final location. He needed to follow right away.

Grabbing extra ammo to put in his pouches, he called Dopinder.

[Anyone else getting a sense of déjà vu?]

They followed the van, and sure enough, it went to the same spot. Wade pulled out a gun for each hand, not bothering to scan the area.

{We have to get to Spidey before they can poke him all up with needles and strap him down to do Death-knows-what to him.}

“We’ll get him.” Wade broke open the door just like before, tossing the spreader behind him as he ran down the halls to where he had seen the teenager being tested on earlier. When he reached the room, he saw Spidey strapped to the same table. He shoved through the door to get to him, to free him. Frantically, he tugged at the restraints. He froze when they opened easily.

The person in red and blue spandex sat up on the table, freeing their legs easily. They hopped off the table and stood mere inches away from Wade, looking up into his mask. 

“Oh, Wade.” She sounded disappointed.

He stumbled back. She was the person with the silky, high-pitched voice he had heard here earlier. 

She pulled the fraudulent mask off and twirled a strand of her white hair. “It was almost too easy. Not as satisfying this way, but as long as we got both of you.” She shrugged.

{They have Spidey. Kill this bitch! Tear her apart!}

Wade brought a gun to her head and pulled to shoot, but she knocked it away, spinning on one leg to sweep her other one into his knees and topple him. The breath knocked out of him, sending stars into his vision. Another fucking electric glove was the last thing Wade saw before he whirled back into the peaceful darkness.

\---

He woke up in Death’s arms again. She gazed into his eyes and hummed when he stirred. 

“I’ve seen you a lot recently, Wade.”

He held a palm to her face. “I know. This time is for good reason.”

She hissed at him, her eyes narrowing. “You know I love you, but you need to be careful where you are. It is more serious than you realize.”

Wade moved his hand to her butt and gave a squeeze. “You’re right. I do know you love me.”

She frowned and removed his hand.

“Take care of Crimson.”

White seeped into his vision, harsh and violent against the smooth, soft black. He felt a familiar tug backward, and he was yanked into life like a fish out of water.

\---

When he woke up, he was immobilized. He recognized the paralysis that sometimes followed certain injuries, but this wasn’t fading the way it typically did. Although he couldn’t move, he could feel air against his skin.

“Ew. That’s --” The woman gagged. “It’s disgusting. Cover it with a cloth, a towel -- I don’t know. Just don’t make me look at it anymore.”

Wade felt something light drape over him. Besides that, he was naked. In addition to the paralysis, he was gagged and strapped down.

“Begin recording. Test subject 26W is disfigured and resilient to harm and perhaps even death. Further studies will need to be conducted on the matter. Its mutation caused it to become disfigured, but we should still be able to work with it despite its apparent defects.” 

She paused and leaned over Wade’s face. Her shadow slid along the cloth covering his head. She was definitely going to be missing a few limbs by the time this was over.

“We have inserted a blade between its C3 and C4 vertebrae to induce tetraplegia and render it defenseless while still allowing for respiration. The blade was designed to destroy motor capabilities while keeping sensory capabilities intact so as to not contaminate the data.”

Wade felt a hand grab at the cloth over his arm. He wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t do anything as they grabbed his arm and poked something into it. His body prickled like pins and needles all over. He wanted to move, to shake the sensation off. He wanted to slap the douchewad still standing over him with her stark white hair that camouflaged with the walls and ceilings.

“The blade must remain in place at all times due to the subject’s regenerative abilities. This is October the ninth in the year 2020. End recording.”

{Get us out of here, big guy.}

[I don’t like this.]

Fuck you, White. Wade didn’t like it either. He tried to gather as much information as he could to form an escape plan. Spidey needed him, and he wasn’t about to become another experiment. He had had enough of that during Weapon X.

Something else poked his arm, and the sheet was returned. Footsteps receded, leaving Wade staring through the cloth into a fluorescent light placed directly above his head because why the fuck not.

The room he was in, as far as he could tell, was a lot like the room he had found fake Spidey in. The walls, table, and straps all matched. Did they have Spidey in a room like this or was he locked up in one of those dark cells? Wade wasn’t sure which would be worse.

[For the record, I wish we were in a cell. At least we wouldn’t be paralyzed.]

{They wouldn’t paralyze Spidey would they?}

[No, he can’t heal from it like we can.]

Something shifted in Wade and he could move his left arm. He yanked against the restraints, but they held. After a brief time, he was fully immobile again. His body was trying desperately to heal, but it didn’t last long. He focused on the sensations but couldn’t detect any patterns among the following flashes of mobility as the nerves in his spine connected and severed over and over.

His body cramped intermittently as he tracked the flashes. He gritted his teeth against the pain. As long as there were moments he could do shit, he could get himself out of here.

He began counting seconds and forming a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I kept misspelling ‘couch,’ but spell check didn’t tell me it was wrong because I was writing ‘coach.’ It did tell me that I couldn’t say ‘cooed’ though. smh
> 
> Next chapter: another rescue mission pt 2, something much happier, more food
> 
> Still yours,  
> Kenwick
> 
>  **Summary** : Wade goes to Sister Margaret's and gets drunk, which is followed by him having flashbacks of childhood memories. Spidey finds him in the middle of a flashback and stays until Wade begins to come out of it. Spidey takes care of Wade for a bit; they get food and talk.  
> Wade visits the spot where Crimson died.  
> During patrol, Wade sees Spidey get captured by one of those vans, and he goes to the building from before to save him but ends up getting caught and is now mostly paralyzed in one of their experiment rooms.


	10. Houdini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: human experimentation, violence

Peter sat against the cold cell wall, huddled in on himself to preserve heat. When they had him restrained in a room, he was warm. Here, the chill and must of the basement soaked into everything. The only sounds from the people around him were whimpering and chattering teeth. One person sang a lullaby when he first arrived, but there was nothing but silence since then.

He wished he could talk to these people and give them hope for rescue, but they had used a device to cover his mouth and keep his tongue pinned down so he couldn’t speak. Worst of all, they had ripped Peter’s Spider-Man mask off as soon as they brought him into the building. His identity would no longer be secret. It meant that May would have to stay in hiding for an indefinite time, and the few visits he got now would be taken away again. They had just been on the verge of giving her the all-clear to move on with her life however she saw fit. Peter was about to ruin that for her.

None of the people in the cells knew he was Spider-Man. To them, he was just a scrawny guy in the regular prisoners outfit. He wasn’t even the only one with a contraption over his mouth or restraint mitts and handcuffs.

The time he spent in the room did grant him small insights to the organization. They recorded some sort of experiment log about him and talked about how he was the ‘key’ to whatever it was they were trying to accomplish. Clearly, it was something to do with mutations.

While he was there, they drew his blood. He felt sick thinking about it. In their hands, his blood could be used for any number of horrible things.

He knew he needed to escape soon, and he knew how he was going to do it.

They had not adequately compensated for his strength. He had tested the restraints and found that they strained when he used a major portion of his strength. It was unusual for him to use so much of his strength because he was used to holding back. This time, he could not hold back.

All that was left to figure out was when to break free.

\---

They came back for him after what felt like hours, but he had no way to be sure. They tugged his cuffs and remained at ready with electric gloves. He kept track of all of them using his spider senses and the vibrations they created, not needing his eyes.

Once they brought him back to the same room, they restrained him to the table like before. The white-haired woman walked in, tapping her sharp fingernails against a clipboard.

“Begin recording. Today we will administer the physical exam to test subject 41P. He will be tested for venom, organic spinnerets, setules, and pheromones. All test results will be recorded in a separate recording. This is October the tenth in the year 2020. End recording.”

No. Peter was not ready nor willing to go through with tests. He could do tests for himself in the safety of Stark labs, not here where he was observed like a specimen. He had found his timing. He was getting out today.

“Let’s begin with the venom test.” She leaned over his face and fiddled with the mechanics of the device on his mouth. It opened, jolting against his jaw. The device must have been to block the venom they thought he had. But why would they think he had venom? He had never used any such thing in all his time as Spider-Man.

A gloved hand pulled back his lips and pressed his teeth. He tried to bite down on the fingers, but they were out of reach. The white-haired woman examined his mouth while wearing loupes for magnification.

Finally, she stepped away and removed her hands. “He does not appear to have ducts for venom. More testing is required to determine if he has the ability to produce venom in any capacity.” Her pen scratched against the paper. “Proceed to spinneret testing.

Someone pawed at his wrist, sliding a gloved thumb over his spinneret. Peter’s breath hitched. Not there. He felt nauseous and wanted to puke. His spinnerets were sensitive and easily damaged. Another benefit of his web-shooters was that they guarded the area. He took steadying breaths to avoid tearing the restraints out while two armed guards were still in the room. Last time, they had left during the process.

The white-haired woman scribbled something onto her clipboard. “He has an unexpected reaction to stimuli against the spinnerets. An increase in heart rate as well as body temperature.” She gestured to someone across the table. “Can you get me a reading on that, Johnson?”

Someone Peter assumed was Johnson leaned over him to read something on a machine.

“Repeat the process and gather measurements.”

The thumb moved to slide over his spinneret again, but Peter would not have it. To hell with waiting for the guards. He yanked up with both arms, snapping the restraints. With another movement, he freed his legs.

The guards were moving toward him so he launched himself into the air to stick to the ceiling. Someone shot something at him, like they had that night to capture him, but this time he was ready. As his senses hummed in alarm, he rolled to the side.

The white-haired woman was still scratching notes onto her clipboard with rapid movements.

Peter pushed off the wall toward the guards and crashed into them. He contorted himself to avoid the gloves reaching for him and struck them to knock them out.

Johnson rushed toward him with a syringe, but he kicked it out of his hand and grabbed his arm to pull it behind his back. A few webs later, and Johnson was immobile, leaving only white-haired lady.

She hadn’t stopped writing, totally engrossed in her paper.

Peter pulled a web out and ran toward her. Once he had pinned her down, he stuck the webbing over her mouth and pulled out more strands to web her limbs down. He felt a twinge of guilty satisfaction when he saw her in the same state she had forced him into.

Before he fled the room, Peter destroyed the recording device and webbed over the paper to make it illegible.

Peter raced through halls, searching for a room where they might have kept his suit. While running down the third hall he found, he glimpsed a plaque on a door that read ‘Storage: Belongings.’ He broke open the door and searched through cabinets and boxes.

It took him a few minutes to find his suit, and when he did, Deadpool’s suit was in the same drawer. Peter paled. They had caught him, too. He didn’t even consider that they would target him, but he was a mutant, so it made sense in hindsight. Peter’s head raced to figure out how to find him. He hadn’t seen him in the cells when they walked him through, so he was probably in one of the rooms. 

Maybe they were performing tests on him at that moment. Peter’s chest tightened at the thought. He needed to find him quickly. The last time Peter had seen him, he had been in bad shape already.

He pulled on his suit and had to take the mask back off to pull out a strand of white hair irritating his nose inside it. Had the white-haired woman worn his suit? What the hell?

It took him more time to find his web shooters and situate them on his wrists. He grabbed Deadpool’s suit and rushed back down the halls. He slammed open a door that led to a line of rooms like the one he had been in.

He glanced into the windows as he passed until he saw a body under a cloth in a room at the end. He desperately hoped it wasn’t Deadpool. He couldn’t bear to think what he would do if Deadpool had died here.

He took a bracing breath and stepped into the room. “Deadpool?”

There was a sudden movement at one end of the cloth. Peter thought it was the head.

“Who are you? Come anywhere near me, and I’ll fuck you up.” The voice was Deadpool, which filled Peter with relief, but he spoke in a deep growl that sent shivers down Peter’s spine. A shot of interest pooled below his stomach. He berated himself. Now was not the time.

“It’s me, Spider-Man.” Peter took an uncertain step forward. He wanted to help, but Deadpool had proven to be worried about keeping his identity secret. Peter wanted to respect that as much as he could.

“Spidey! If you could do me a solid and tap that button over there. Honestly, I don’t know which one exactly.” Deadpool sounded chipper, but he didn’t seem to be moving against the restraints at all.

Peter scanned the machine attached to the table and pressed one of the buttons.

“Oh,  _ shit _ nuggets. Not that one. A different one.”

Spidey fumbled to push the button again, hoping it would undo whatever he had done.

Deadpool yelped. “What the fuck, Spidey? I said  _ not _ that one!”

Peter nodded and tried a different button. “Did that work?”

“Aw, yeah! Welcome back, body.  _ Reunited and it feels so good _ ,” There was a sickening pop and a grunt, and one of Deadpool’s arms moved under the cloth. He stilled. “Could you close your eyes or something? Fuck. How are we gonna do this? You can’t just keep your eyes closed during our whole derring-do prison break.”

“I’ll step out for a minute if you have it handled. I found your suit, so I’ll just leave it here.” Peter draped the suit over the machine and left the room, closing the door behind him. Deadpool shouted his thanks as the door clicked shut. Peter chewed on his cheek absentmindedly while more muffled pops and yelps came from the room.

A minute later, Deadpool walked out of the room, back in his Deadpool suit. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, Spidey babe. We were worried they might have paralyzed you, too.”

Too? Peter looked over Deadpool who was walking and talking just fine. “They paralyzed you?”

“Yup. It feels so good to have the freedom to touch my dick again. That was the real torture. But -- despite the paralysis -- I  _ was _ on my way out to rescue you. I was at least. . .” He waved his hand in a so-so movement. “one third free. Then it turned out you beat me to the hero moment, so congrats, I guess.” 

Deadpool patted his hands together and cracked his knuckles. “Now someone’s gonna pay for this shit.” He paused and chuckled. “I know. Now I can see why they do.”

Peter briefly wondered if the earpiece was built-in to his mask. He scanned the hall to remember which direction they needed to go. Gesturing for Deadpool to follow him, he moved down the hall toward the door.

They sped through a few halls until they reached the entrance to the cells. Peter turned to Deadpool. “There will be guards on the other side of the door.”

Deadpool nodded and pulled out a gun. “Uh-huh. I’ll cover you.”

Peter flinched at the sight of the weapon. He didn’t want to risk casualties or even serious injuries, but they didn’t have time for a conversation detailing the parameters of the upcoming battle. “Nothing lethal.”

“Not even my killer good looks? That’s no -- okay, we’re going.”

Peter had shoved open the door and swung onto the ceiling to analyze the situation. Deadpool ran out behind him and swung a sword into a guard’s arm, cutting it off just above the glove she wore. She toppled over, clutching at the wound. Peter gaped at the sight of the open wound gushing blood. Shooting out a web, he covered the wound from his spot on the ceiling.

That left four guards at the entrance end of the tunnel, and probably five more to match at the other end.

Peter dropped down onto two guards, securing them to the floor with webs and pulling off their gloves to fling down the hall. Deadpool squealed in delight and ran after the gloves, throwing a knife into someone’s leg on the way. He secured the glove over his own hand.

Peter knocked the last guard over and webbed him to the ground, along with the ones Deadpool had taken down.

As soon as they were all taken care of, multiple sets of feet ran toward them, sending vibrations into Peter’s fingertips which were braced against the floor. He analyzed the information. There were two heavy sets indicating bulky people, easy enough for Peter to take down with his preferred quick, nimble approach, but the other three were lighter, almost not there. Peter dreaded finding out who was linked to those steps.

The group emerged from the shadows. The two bulky ones had gloves, two had wickedly-curved blades, and the last had no visible weapons. He was probably a mutant or mutate.

Peter glanced over at Deadpool, who was running at the people with blades with his newfound glove stretched out in front of him. He shocked one, and she thumped to the ground. The other spun his sword, letting it arc towards Deadpool’s shoulder.

Peter pressed down on his palm, sending a web out, but he was too late. By the time he pulled the sword away from the guard, the blade had already sliced through Deadpool’s gloved arm, severing it completely.

“Oh, you  _ fucker _ . That was my favorite arm.” Deadpool whirled his own blade to stab it into the guard’s thigh while Peter launched himself toward the two bulky guards who were approaching Deadpool. His knee smashed into one’s nose, and he brought the other one down with an arm around her throat. While the first was distracted with blood pouring out of their face, Peter webbed the other to the ground.

Once he was done, he pushed the first down, keeping a hand behind the guard’s head to protect it from the impact. He webbed his limbs down and jumped back up to the ceiling.

The only guard left was the unarmed one. He cracked his neck in that classic villain way and smirked. “I’m glad I get you all to myself. It’ll even the odds for you a bit.” 

As he raised his arms out in front of him, there was a bang and his forehead burst open in a splatter of red.

“‘Never tell me the odds.’” Deadpool twirled a gun around his finger and holstered it.

Peter gaped and felt anger blossom in his chest, hot and loud. He dropped down onto Deadpool’s shoulders and reached to pull the gun from the holster. “I said don’t kill!” He threw the gun to the side.

Deadpool stood up, standing almost chest-to-chest with Peter. “ _ He _ would have.” He jabbed a finger at the mutant.

“His actions don’t excuse yours!” He didn’t know why he thought working with a mercenary would go well. He had told himself that he could keep Deadpool under control, but he couldn’t.

“It was self-defense! His actions legally  _ do _ justify mine!” He softened, posture relaxing, head tilting down. “I couldn’t let him hurt you, Spidey,” he sighed.

Peter stepped past him, shouldering him to the side. “We don’t know what could have happened! He hadn’t even done anything yet. There could have been a different way.” He crushed the iron bars of a cell together, making room for the person inside to get out. “But you murdered him! You’re horrible.”

He walked down the corridor, yanking open cell doors as he went. Some people immediately rushed out while others stayed still or cowered further in their cell. At first Peter thought it was because of Deadpool, who had just shot open someone’s head, but then he realized the ones who were cowering were training their eyes on Peter.

He looked back and saw the sharp, broken bars of iron twisted apart. It barely took any effort from him, and these people saw that. He looked down at himself, noticing the tension lining his body. He looked dangerous.

The thought smothered him. This was not how he wanted people to see him. He was supposed to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, not something feared by the very people he was meant to protect.

A glance at Deadpool revealed how crushed he looked. He was positioned defensively toward Peter. Like a kicked puppy trying to shield itself, he had his one arm held out in front of his torso.

Peter brought his hands to his head. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “Deadpool, I didn’t -- I’m sorry.” Unsure where to go, he took a step back. He didn’t know what to do, what to say.

Deadpool stiffened. “Let’s just get out of here,” he said gruffly. He walked into a cell to help a person get out and take off their handcuffs.

They worked until everyone was free and grouped up in the hall.

“I’ll clear the way. Keep them safe.” Deadpool’s voice lacked the laughter or joking-tone Peter had grown used to hearing. He nodded mutely in response.

Throughout the time it took them to reach the ground level, Peter didn’t hear any gunshots, but the group he led passed multiple people sitting against the wall with limbs stabbed and zip-tied.

They met up with Deadpool in a storage room filled with tapes and papers. He didn’t look at Spidey when he spoke. “Take them away from here. Don’t come back for me.”

Peter felt sick. He tried to step in front of Deadpool, but he turned away. “What are you trying to do?”

He held up a grenade. “I already brought the stuff they took that they had in a different room -- blood samples and whatever.”

Peter wanted to ask what his plan was. He wanted to know that Deadpool was going after them, but he already knew the answer. “Surely there’s another way. We can just take the stuff with us and destroy it later.”

Deadpool was shaking his head before Peter finished. “I need to finish this, Spidey. Get them out of here.”

“But you’ll die!” Peter ached with the need to make Deadpool understand that they would find another way. He couldn’t kill himself for this.

“No, I won’t. I pop back up faster than a caffeinated whack-a-mole on meth.” He finally turned to look at Peter. “Trust me. I got this.”

Peter wanted to protest, but his group was tired and hungry. They needed help. As much as he hated it, he knew Deadpool was determined, and he had to stick to the plan. The group was his responsibility. He just had to trust that Deadpool could take care of himself. Softening, he nodded.

Peter led the group out of the building and into the deserted area that stretched on around them as far as the eye could see. Everything felt surreal, and Peter kept glancing back at the building, hoping to see Deadpool walk out.

But he didn’t, and the grenade boomed in the distance.

The instant he heard the sound, regret rushed through Peter in a wave, and he ran with every ounce of strength he had to get back to Deadpool. He couldn’t leave him behind. His lungs burned, but he kept running.

Once he reached the entrance, he saw Deadpool. He was lying in front of the room, unmoving. It looked like he had tried to run away from the explosion, but he hadn’t made it far. He was missing most of both of his legs, in addition to the arm he had already lost, and shrapnel had buried itself in his back. Peter sank to his knees, and he nearly sobbed with relief when he felt the tiny vibrations of Deadpool’s heart thudding against the ground.

Peter touched him gingerly, but he didn’t stir. He reached under his armpits and picked him up, holding him close in his arms while he ran back to the group. They all trekked back to the nearest bus stop in stunned silence.

\---

Peter tenderly leaned Deadpool face-down onto his bed and brought in the blanket that he had nuzzled into the day before. He was still breathing, but his breaths were short and stilted. Peter thought the shrapnel might have punctured a lung.

Walking into the bathroom, he noticed that Deadpool had duct-taped a shower curtain over the mirror and locked one of the cabinets shut. He opened the other cabinet and rummaged around for a first-aid kit. When he found it, he walked back to the bedroom and pulled out gauze and antiseptic to clean the wounds. He pulled out the shrapnel, using tweezers to get the smaller pieces. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but Deadpool whined as he dug in to retrieve a piece that was buried particularly deep. Peter’s chest ached.

Once he was done, he laid the blanket over him, tucking the sides under him so he was wrapped snugly. By the time Peter had pulled a chair from the kitchen into the room to sit next to the bed, Deadpool’s breathing had steadied.

Peter focused on the breaths, letting the welcome sound lull him into a peaceful sleep.

\---

A groan woke him up. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked a couple times to wake up. Deadpool was attempting to roll over, limited by the blanket wrapped around him.

“‘Pool? Are you awake?” Peter hopped off his chair and stepped next to the bed.

Deadpool froze. “Spidey?” He wriggled his head to the side, and the whites of his mask widened when he saw Peter. “I told you not to come back for me.” He didn’t sound angry or hurt, just soft. Maybe surprised.

“What can I say? I’m a rebel.” Spidey grinned, trying to pass on a smile to Deadpool.

The white eyes of his mask crinkled in a small smile, and Peter’s heart fluttered. “Well, Spidey, who woulda thunk. I thought I was supposed to be the one ‘who was all rebellious and shit.’ Quote: Deadpool, chapter one.”

Peter laughed and kneeled in front of the bed, resting his chin on the bed next to Deadpool. “I don’t know what that means, but sure.”

“I know, right? Do you think we’re hallucinating again?” he whispered, clearly to himself. Peter heard it anyway.

“Do they just never leave you alone?” Peter wondered once again why Deadpool put up with whoever was always talking to him. He didn’t know why he even needed his guy in the chair providing comments about everything in his life, not just his work.

Deadpool shifted, moving his head to break eye contact with Peter. He seemed to deliberate for a minute before responding. “We’re not sure whether we should tell you about them.”

“You don’t have to. If they don’t want me to know who they are, that’s okay. I understand secret identities, remember?” Peter couldn’t deny he was curious, but he didn’t want to force Deadpool into a corner.

Deadpool smushed his face into the bed. “Shut up. Just. . . let me think. No it’s fucking not.”

Peter waited with bated breath while Deadpool talked to whoever was on the other end.

Deadpool sighed and turned his head back to look at Peter. “Another time.”

Peter nodded. “Sure.” He felt lighter at the idea of another time then berated himself for desiring more time with the mercenary who had killed someone earlier that day. Still, Deadpool had limited himself and had sacrificed himself to keep those people from suffering any more. He had done what he felt was necessary, and he had saved people. 

That’s what Peter tried to do as a hero, and he didn’t always know how to do it either. Maybe they could learn from each other. As he stared into those white eyes, he hoped that was the case.

Deadpool imitated radio static. “Earth to Spidey. Captain Deadpool here. Whatcha thinking about?”

Peter moved back to sit on his chair. “Nothing much.” He scratched nervously at his arm.

Deadpool hummed in affirmation. “Do you mind stepping out for a minute? I have to change into a less scabby suit. If you want to stay for the peep show, you’ll have to pay big bucks.”

Peter blushed and tried not to think about that. “No, I’ll leave you to it.” After he sat down on the couch, he wondered if Deadpool needed help getting to a fresh suit. His legs had been severely damaged in the blast.

He was about to knock on the door and ask when Deadpool wobbled out into the living room. Peter’s eyes widened. He was walking fine, but lower to the ground. His feet were swallowed by socks many sizes too big underneath rolled up pants. One sleeve was limp against his side. He raised the other to wave at Peter. Peter hesitantly waved back.

Deadpool dragged his blanket behind him to the couch where he hopped up and took a seat next to Peter. “Wanna play some Mario Kart?”

At the same time, Peter asked, “How do you have feet?”

Deadpool glanced down before reaching over to grab the tv remote. “They grow back. I told you -- whack-a-mole.” He switched on the tv and changed the input.

Peter leaned over in his seat to take another look at the tiny, socked feet.

“What? Wishing you had paid for the peep show now?” He sounded amused.

“That’s so cool.” He leaned back, wondering just how far Deadpool’s healing factor would go. It had proven to be far better than his own. Turning the thought over in his head, he grabbed the remote Deadpool handed him and looked at the screen to choose a character.

He beat Wade in the first race, but by the fourth he was yawning and having trouble keeping up. By the end of the sixth, he was drifting off (and so was his car. Repeatedly.)

\---

When he woke up, everything was warm. He was clutching a blanket that was wrapped around him. It was the fuzzy blanket Deadpool had been using, but the aforementioned mercenary was nowhere in sight. He had laid down sometime while he was asleep, so he sat up to rub his eyes and look around.

Sunlight was streaming through a wide window, sending rays across the room. One of them ran across the couch, warming his spot.

He stretched, popping his back and shoulders, and checked his mask to make sure it was snugly in place. Standing up, he turned toward the kitchen and was surprised to see Deadpool swaying back and forth in front of the stove with his back to Peter. An apron wrapped around his waist, tied in a bow at the back. He moved his arm to do something on the stove, causing the muscles in his arm to flex. 

Peter watched in fascination. Then he did a double-take as he realized that was the arm that had been cut off. He glanced down to his legs, and sure enough, those were fully back, too. He walked to the kitchen and sat down on a barstool, watching Deadpool cook and sing quietly to himself.

“ _ And they’re like it’s better than yours. Damn right, it’s better than yours _ .” He slid to the side and grabbed something on the counter before sliding back. “ _ I can see you’re on it _ .” 

He continued humming until he abruptly stopped. “You skipped a line! No, you don’t. Go back.” He shook a spatula to the side. “Fine!” He continued singing in falsetto and twirled around to grab a plate from the counter in front of Peter. When Deadpool noticed him, he yelped.

Peter grinned. “Oh, no, don’t let me interrupt.”

“Care to join?” He raised an eyebrow and held out a hand, palm up.

Peter shook his head, still grinning. Deadpool shrugged and did the moonwalk back to the stove, keeping his eyes on Peter. Glancing down, Peter laughed at his apron which had been embroidered to say “Chefpool” in curly, red letters.

He twirled again and moved the food from the pan onto the plate. With a bow and a flourish of his hand, he set it in front of Peter. It was a pancake, smiling a blueberry smile up at him. A bottle of syrup clunked onto the counter in front of him.

“That’s the good stuff, so use it plentifully. I expect to see syrup Niagara Falls on your plate by the time tortita número dos is done.”

Once he had drizzled maple syrup over it, Peter grabbed the fork and took a bite. It was fluffy and had a hint of sharp acidity from the blueberry. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise. As soon as he had finished, Deadpool plopped another onto his plate.

While he was finishing his second pancake, Deadpool slid into the seat next to him with a plate piled high with pancakes.

Peter pushed his plate toward Deadpool. “Sharing is caring.”

He looked down at it and tapped a finger against his chin in thought. “I don’t care, Share Bear.”

While Peter pouted, Deadpool drenched his stack in syrup. Once half the bottle was gone, he slid the whole plate over to Peter, who lit up.

“I knew you cared, ‘Pool.” Peter pulled half of the stack off and set it on his plate before pushing the remaining pancakes back to Deadpool. He turned a bit in his seat to not look at him.When he felt the vibrations of Deadpool scooping up a bite, he smiled.

Once he finished his stack, he checked the time on his phone. His stomach dropped when he realized he was late for the event at the museum. He typed out a message to Kat, hoping she wouldn’t be upset. Turning toward Deadpool, he started to tell him that he had to go, but the words fled his mind as he saw Deadpool’s exposed chin.

It was horribly scabbed with scars trailing through like a pile of earthworms. He choked on air and scuffled backwards out of his chair, nearly tripping over.

Deadpool yanked his mask back down and shot a wide-eyed look at Peter. He had shrunk back on his seat, and his hands were held out in a defensive posture.

Guilt tore through Peter, and he scrambled for what to do. Stammering out something about the museum, he fled, yanking the door shut behind him.

\---

As Peter swung to his apartment, the guilt didn’t dissipate. If anything, it only grew. He hadn’t meant to see Deadpool’s face. He knew that he was cautious about showing it, and he wanted to respect that. Why did he have to be such an idiot? Deadpool would probably hate him now. He would definitely never trust him again. He had ruined everything.

His racing thoughts weighed him down as he ran to the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The great escape! Hopefully it's the last one for a while. . . heh.  
> Sorry to end this one on a sour note, but the next chapter should be a happy one.
> 
> Next chapter: Howie's back, Deadpool runs into _totally_ normal civilian Peter, even more food (really? yes.)
> 
> With cheer,  
> Kenwick


	11. The Calm Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: N/A

Wade yanked his mask back down, but it was too late. Spidey was stumbling away from him, coughing and gagging. Wade braced himself for the inevitable pancake vomit that would spew onto his floor at any moment, for the comments detailing in exactly what way he was so repulsive. Maybe, since it was Spidey, he would make a joke of Wade’s skin. Slap on some of that iconic humor and hit him with a witty one-liner. 

Spidey took rapid breaths and blabbered as he backed toward the door, “I need to -- I’m late to the museum -- an event. Expecting me. Date.”

Wade flinched at the slam of the door.

{Well, at least we got that bit out of the way. And he didn’t even puke!}

[How polite.]

Grabbing his plate, Wade flung it into the wall. It shattered in a burst of white ceramic. The remaining blueberry pancake mocked him with its smile. He threw Spidey’s plate at it, slicing the pancake cleanly in half and shattering more ceramic.

{Nooo! We could have eaten those!}

He toppled a chair and fell onto his couch, nuzzling into the still-warm blanket that he had draped over Spidey the night before. Thinking back to playing Mario Kart, Wade remembered the way that Spidey’s head nodded a few times before jerking back up and the process repeating itself several times as he tried to stay awake. He was a competitive little spider when it came to Mario Kart. Even drowsiness couldn’t stop him from winning.

And then Spidey’s head nodded and didn’t come back up. He looked so relaxed in that moment that Wade couldn’t help but sit there and watch him as he fell from first place down through the ranks. He hadn’t cared. Spidey was more important. When Spidey shifted to lay down and leaned up against his side, all gentle and warm, Wade had almost died right then and there.

Now he wanted to die again, but for an entirely different reason. He had been given just a taste of friendship and happiness with Spidey, and then it was ripped away from him. It felt like a splash of cold water waking him up from a dream, except most of Wade’s dreams were nightmares. Spidey had been anything but.

{Nothing but butt.}

[Must you constantly objectify Wade’s friend and bother us with your pervy comments?]

{Yes.}

Wade wrapped the blanket around himself, trying to get it like Spidey had done, like Spidey would never do again. Wade had ruined the only good thing he had.

[Well, that’s an exaggeration.]

{Our gross face is still ruining our life. Fucking Francis. We should do that thing again where we tape a photo of his face over a dart board. You’d like that, big guy.}

[There you go -- a good thing.]

“That’s stupid. . . but okay.” He rolled off the couch, wincing when he hit the floor. With a couple rolls and hops, he was on his feet, still snugly burritoed.

Lamentably, he had to unroll himself to print out the picture and tape it up. While he was grabbing tape from the closet, he also grabbed another mask to wear over the first as a backup layer.

[Is this going to be one of those weeks where you won’t take off the suit, and we smell like sulfuric gas because you refuse to shower? I don’t like those weeks.]

{But why take off the suit. . . when you can leave it on? Pksheww. Mind blown, bitches!}

Wade stepped down the hall from his dartboard and lined up the shot. The first dart flew out of his hand, followed by a flurry of attacks aimed at Franic’s eyes and forehead. Once the darts ran out, Wade spun a throwing knife into Francis’ stupid mouthhole.

{Ugh, now we have to buy a new dartboard.}

That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Wade planned to avoid showing his face -- literally or figuratively -- for a good while.

So, of course, someone chose that moment to knock on his door. He rolled his eyes and walked down the hall to gather darts. The knocking persisted.

[Probably just a solicitor.]

{Wave a gun in their face, and they’ll make like a chip and dip.}

Wade stomped to the door, flung it open, and in his most pleasant voice asked, “Can I help you on your way out?”

The person at the door raised an eyebrow, and Wade leaned back an inch in surprise. “Oh. Howie.”

“Hey yourself, Wade.” Howie pushed past him and moved to lounge on the couch. “I heard through the grapevine you pulled off your little hero moment, if you could call it that.”

Wade dropped into the seat next to them, resting his head on their shoulder. They pushed him away, so he resigned himself to the comfort of the blanket instead. “I almost forgot you have more of a homeless network than Sherlock Holmes.”

Howie had pulled out their knife and was twirling it through their fingers while they listened to Wade talk. “I  _ am _ the homeless network.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit. You are a mere cog in the machine, pumpkin.” Wade tried to boop their nose, but they twisted the knife in their hand in a way that made it clear they would cut his finger off. He pulled his hand back. “Sooo. What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Definitely not the creepy picture on your dartboard. The fuck, Wade?” With another twirl of their hand, they flung their knife toward the board. It sunk deep, right between the eyes.

Wade nodded in appreciation. “Nice shot.” He threw another knife of his own, landing it next to Howie’s.

{Take that, Francis, you piece of unfeeling shit.}

They scoffed. “Showoff. You have any beer?”

Wade groaned and wiggled in his place on the couch, holding the blanket around his shoulders. “All I have is iced coffee and a broken heart, How-How.”

“God, you’re so dramatic.” They walked away to grab their knife from the board and paused on their way back, taking a long look at Wade. “What happened? You need me to fuck somebody up for ya?” They were watching him with a sincere frown and just a touch of anger.

[Oh, great, another pity party.]

“No, Howie just cares about us. We’re besties.” His arm flashed in pain as Howie punched him.

“Sorry I asked,” they grumbled, falling back into their seat. They were always such a ray of sunshine. “If you’re done with your ‘woe-is-me’ schtick, we need to talk.”

Wade nodded, drumming his fingers against each other in a serious, businessperson way.

[You look like an evil mastermind.]

All the better.

“The people who made it out are still dealing with shit from the experiments. The ones who are still alive have been complaining about stuff like acidic spit, like they drool and their fucking face is blistering up. Some have skin drying up and scabbing everywhere. One person even sprouted these fuckin’ sticks from her back.” Howie ran a hand through their oh-so-spiky hair and sighed. “We need you to talk to Spider-Man for us.”

Wade clutched the blanket tighter around himself and turned away from Howie. “I’m sorry, pumpkin spice latte, but I can’t do that.”

There was a tense pause before Howie spoke again, softer than before. “Is he the one I need to fuck up for ya?”

{Don’t let them hurt Spidey!}

Wade shook his head. “Nah. I was the one who messed it up.”

Howie inhaled and blew out the breath. Wade imagined he could cut the awkwardness with a knife.

[That’s not how the expression goes. It’s ‘cut the  _ tension _ .’]

{We can cut whatever we damn well please, White.}

“Do you wanna. . . talk about it?” It sounded forced, stumbling its way out of their mouth. Wade shook his head again.

“Oh, thank fuck. I really don’t know what to do here, Wade.”

He grinned. “That’s obvious.” A thought crossed his mind, and he turned back to Howie. “I can give you his number, and you can call him up yourself.”

{♪ _ So call me maybe. _ _ ♪ _ }

They smiled back, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “Sounds good. I’ll get out of your hair.”

[The hair we don’t have.]

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Wade jumped up and walked behind them as they made their way to the door. “I’ve got a really comfy bed, and it’s  _ very _ sturdy.”

Howie turned around to give him an unamused look, which was how they always looked.

[At least around you.]

“Find someone else to have rebound sex with, Wade. I just need the number.”

Wade made an affronted gasp. “Do you really think me so easy? You haven’t properly seduced me yet. I was merely offering you my guest bedroom.” While talking, he pulled out his mini notebook and grabbed a crayon from a recently restocked pouch.

“You know I belong to the streets, Wade. Can’t leave my alley to be taken over by the rats and drunk guys who need to take a piss.” Howie took the paper when Wade handed it to them. 

“Not to mention the drunk rats who need to take a piss. And the piss drunks who need to take a rat. Yeah, I understand.” Wade had offered before, months earlier when he had found out Howie lived in the alley. They had refused then, too. After much effort, he had only managed to get them to accept a pillow. And Wade made damn sure he bought the best pillow available to give them.

{A pillow fit for a fat, benevolent monarch.}

Fit for Howie. Wade smiled.

[What? Howie is not a monarch.]

{It’s the thought that counts.}

[I can’t even. . .]

Howie fistbumped Wade and strolled out the door with both middle fingers raised. 

“Two birds from one stoner. Bye, pumpkin.” Wade wiggled his fingers in a wave and watched their spiky hair bob along down the hall until they were out of sight.

{Is it weird that I want to mow their hair like a lawn?}

[Everything about you is weird.]

\---

The week passed a blur, which Wade was convinced was due to a time jump in the writing, but White kept bringing up dissociation.

[You say that like I’m wrong. You were practically dissociating the entire week, wallowing in self-pity.]

Wade stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of the strawberry ice cream that he had bought for breakfast dessert with Spidey on that fateful day. He had scared him off with his fugly mug before they were able to eat it, but Wade was never one to let good ice cream go to waste. So there he was, swallowing scoops of melting ice cream while wrapped in the soft blanket and listening to “All By Myself.”

[You are blowing this out of proportion. We barely even knew him.]

{But he went back for us.}

It was true. Spidey had been there when he had woken up, and his breaths were, shockingly, even. The shrapnel that always,  _ always _ followed a grenade at such proximity must have been removed before he woke up. Wade could count the number of people who gave two flying fucks about him on one hand, and Spidey was -- or had been -- among those counted.

Scraping the bottom of the carton, Wade licked up the remaining spoonful of ice cream. It was the last scrap of food in the house.

[I still can’t believe you chugged the rest of the syrup.]

{Gotta get nutrition somehow.}

“Might as well be via syrup.” It had not been as pleasant an experience as he had thought it would be. The viscous liquid had taken its pretty time sliding down his throat, making him feel like he was about to drown.

{Death by syrup would be the way to go.}

The point remained: he needed more food if he didn’t want to deal with starving while being unable to die, which was -- surprise, surprise -- uncomfortable. He knew from experience.

Wade tossed the empty carton into the trash without bothering to move from the couch. He could last a few days, at least, without food.

[Get your lazy ass off the couch and take a shower. I want lasagna for dinner.]

Wade had put up with the smell so far by stuffing car air-fresheners in gaps of his suit, but even those defenses were beginning to break down against his foul smell.

{Maybe we could even unalive someone on the way. Hand out a nice bit of torture.}

“Yeah, maybe.” The thought cheered him up a bit, even at the prospect of reentering the world. He managed to peel off his costume to step into the shower. That day, nothing could convince him to open his eyes or touch the scars that polluted every inch of him. Pouring a glob of body wash for sensitive skin on his head, he let the water spread it out and run over him, washing away the accumulated sweat and grime.

It stung like a mother because he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do his skin-care routine at all that week. His skin was dry and cracking in most places. The worst areas had scabs peeling off.

A quick pat-dry and re-suit later, and Wade was striding down the sidewalk looking chipper as the Chuck E. Cheese mouse with a slice of top-quality parmesan. He had thrown on a hoodie and jeans over his suit, hoping that the employee at Speedy Grocer wouldn’t notice the warning picture on the wall.

{It’s like a dope wanted poster, just for us!}

He had long since learned how to wear a hoodie like sith robes, shadowing his face -- or in this case his mask -- from view. Fingers crossed the cheap, minimum-wage-paying job would keep the employee from peering too close or asking him to take it off. That had happened before, and the employee had been scared off from their job because of the experience.

[We didn’t threaten them or anything. They just didn’t want to put up with our face on our weekly shopping trips.]

The bell twinkled as Wade entered, and he wiggled his fingers in front of him like the bell was a magical sound effect. Grabbing a cart, he rolled through the aisles. Once he got stuff for lasagna, he proceeded to gather snacks, drinks, and more syrup. He was glad to be a patron to the store as long as they provided him with the good syrup. Not enough places did that.

{ ♪ _ So delicious _ . ♪ }

[Alright, I’m out. Wake me up in ten years.]

{ ♪ _ That puts them boys on rock, rock, and they be lining down the block -- _ _ ♪ _ }

“ _ Just to watch what I got. _ ” Wade joined in with a roll of his eyes and his hips. It always cheered Yellow up, and they would continue without him anyway.

_ { _ _ ♪ _ _ So delicious. _ _ ♪ _ _ } _

“ _ It’s hot, hot. _ ” Wade fanned his face with exaggerated motions

{ ♪ _ So delicio _ _ ♪ _ _ \--  _ Whoa there!}

As Wade rolled to the end of the aisle, someone popped out from behind the shelves right in front of his cart. He slammed his heels down to brake but ended up overcompensating and sending the cart back into his chest. He wheezed.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there.” The person in front of the cart grabbed an orange that had rolled off Wade’s cart, holding it out to Wade.

Wade’s eyes widened. It was Peter! A wide grin stretched across his face. He hadn’t thought he would get the chance to see him again since he had never called Wade. Not many people did, so he wasn’t surprised, but it was still disappointing. It was also weird that Peter hadn’t noticed him. Most people complained about him being too loud and obnoxious, not too subtle.

“The singing didn’t tip you off?” Wade raised an eyebrow.

Peter stilled. “I was just lost in thought.” He dropped the orange in the cart, apparently giving up on handing it to Wade.

[A brief reminder that this time we are  _ in _ suit.]

{I thought you left, White. Ten years sure pass fast without you in them.}

[Fuck off.]

Wade tugged at his hood, hoping that Peter hadn’t seen the mask since he probably wouldn’t be thrilled to find himself in the company of deranged killer Deadpool who had shot up his camera. For once, Wade wished he wasn’t wearing the mask.

Peter scratched at the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Wade cooed and propped his head up on a hand. “I’m fine, sweetum. Not a scratch on me.”

He nodded and wrung his hands, scanning the grocery store. “It’s just -- it was a mistake, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Well, this was turning out to be a weird afternoon. Wade squinted at Peter. Nobody had ever given him such a thorough apology for stepping in front of him. And people stepped in front of him all the damn time in the city.

[Do you think he noticed the mask and is scared of us?]

{Oh nooo! We can’t have that.}

“It’s cool. All is forgiven. Do I, uh. . .” Wade thought for a moment about how to ask the question. “Do you know me?”

{Yes, that’s definitely the way to ask. /s}

[Most people ask ‘Do I know you?’ or just don’t  _ say anything _ .]

Peter gave Wade a long, blank look that didn’t tell him anything. “Uh, yeah. You broke my camera. Deadpool, right?”

{EEeEEeee! He knows our name!}

[I did not know that pitch was possible for you to reach. What a disappointing discovery.]

So he could see the mask and remembered the camera incident. Two strikes already. Wade winced. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter eyed the cart and then looked back up at Wade. “Really, I’m sorry. I should have been more careful with my actions.”

This guy was really freaking out about bumping into him. “I’m not going to kill you!” he blurted. He slapped a hand over his mouth and watched Peter’s reaction with wide eyes.

[How reassuring.]

His eyebrows lifted a touch, but overall his expression barely changed. “I didn’t expect you would, but thanks? I won’t kill you either.”

Wade grinned and held a hand daintily against his face. “Flattery will get you everywhere, babe.” 

He glanced back at the cashier, who was the same teen with red-streaked hair from last time. She was typing something onto her phone. Wade drummed his fingers on his chin. She didn’t seem the type to care enough to kick him out. He’d just have to go for it. Turning back around, his eye was caught by a box of macaroni shaped like tiny cars. He couldn’t say no to that.

{Traffic jam in a bowl? Yes please!}

When he moved to grab two boxes, he glimpsed Peter still standing in the aisle out of the corner of his eye. He was watching Wade closely.

Wade tossed the boxes on top of his pile of goodies. “Do you need something?”

Peter took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. “No. I guess I don’t. Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath. He still didn’t walk away.

[He probably wants you to pay him back for the camera you shot apart.]

Wade perked up. White actually had a good point for once in his sorry existence.

[Ungrateful asshole.]

“I can take you to a camera shop once I buy my groceries. If they can’t fix your camera, I’ll buy you a new one.”

Peter started when he spoke and stared with a crinkled brow and slightly-parted lips. “You don’t have to do that. I already had plenty of shots with my camera before it was shot.” His lips twitched slightly in a half-grin. “I have others that I use now.”

Well. It turned out White had been as wrong as ever.

[Hey, you thought it was a good idea, too.]

Steps pattered up behind them, and Wade turned around. The employee smacked her gum lazily while looking Wade up and down with a bored expression. “You can’t be here.” She shoved a tiny picture of him in front of his face.

Wade looked down at the picture then back up at the employee. “No, clearly you have the wrong person. See, I have a hoodie.”

Peter tried to hold back a laugh behind him, but the employee did not look amused. “Get out.”

Wade held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m going.” He turned to Peter and handed him his wallet. “Can you check me out?”

He took the wallet. “No, but I’ll check out your groceries.” He set his own handheld basket of stuff into Wade’s cart.

“ _ Now _ , sir.” The employee sounded exasperated.

Wade gave her a sloppy salute and walked out of the store onto the street. Yellow sang “Take On Me” as Wade fiddled with one his flip knives and waited. By the time Yellow was halfway through their second rendition, Peter was walking out of the door, both hands full with bags of groceries. He wasn’t struggling to lift them.

{ _ Damn _ . Me likey.}

Wade took his bags, which was most of them, and arranged them to fit in his hands. Peter held out his wallet, which he had forgotten about, and Wade grabbed it to drop in a bag. “Thanks for the help, boo. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to leave behind my stuff for lasagna.”

“No ingredient left behind.” Peter’s mock seriousness was ruined by the toothy grin he shot at Wade.

“True that. You’re a goddamn hero, you.”

Confusion flashed across Peter’s face for a moment before it cleared again. He gave a short laugh. “Thanks, ‘Pool.”

Wade preened. Leaving the house was turning out to be not so bad. “Do you wanna get tacos? Lasagna is a bitch to cook up, and my tummy’s already a-rumblin’.”

“Yeah, I could go for a taco. Besides, now you owe me one, and tacos are the best form of pay.”

Wade had to agree with him there, but most clients didn’t think so, so he had to exchange currency frequently. “Ooh, we could go to Carlo’s Carnitas --”

[Don’t you fucking dare. Their tacos taste like actual shit, Wade.]

{But it’s Carlo’s Carnitas Café!}

[Yes. Exactly.]

“Fine, fine. We can go to Tía’s Tacos, a compromise.” Wade took the boxes’ silence as acceptance and let out a breath of relief.

“Tía’s is good. It’s my friend’s favorite.”

“Your friend has good taste.” Wade moved a shoulder to gesture for Peter to walk alongside him, and they made their way down the street chatting about the food at Tía’s.

It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that only the locals know about. There were a couple wobbly tables and a few barstools if you were going for one of the margaritas, the pride of the restaurant. Wade went there for the everything burrito that contained, well, everything that the restaurant had to offer.

When the server walked up to take their order, Wade asked for three of the everything burritos, and Peter asked for a shocking number of tacos for such a normal-sized guy. Not that Wade was gonna judge. His own metabolism meant he often ordered half the menu at places.

{We should take Spidey here if he ever decides to put up with us again.}

[That is not going to happen.]

“No, but he would like it.” Wade allowed himself a moment of reminiscence.

“Who?”

Wade started. Peter was looking at him with a taco raised halfway to his mouth. Sauce dripped onto the plate beneath it.

“Spidey. Spider-Man. He likes tacos. At least, I think he does because he sure ate a lot of them when he ordered us food.” Wade stirred his drink, which was still full since he refused to take off the mask.

“Oh. You’re, uh, you’re friends with Spider-Man?” He sounded curious. Lots of people liked Spider-Man, looked up to him. Wade himself was one of those people. There was a reason Spidey was called The Amazing Spider-Man. Or was that a different universe?

“Not anymore,” Wade sighed. He had fucked it up almost before it started.

The amount of sauce the taco was dripping was frankly ridiculous at this point. Why did they even put so much on it in the first place? Peter didn’t seem to notice. He just kept watching Wade with those brown, doughy eyes.

[‘Doe-eyes,’ idiot.]

Whatever the case, Wade couldn’t look away even if he tried. But he didn’t want to try.

“What happened?” His voice was oh-so-soft.

{One might even say. . . doughy. lol}

“Shut up! It was an honest mistake!” He slammed a fist down onto a burrito, which promptly exploded, splattering beans, cheese, beef, and so much more out of one end and onto Peter. Wade gasped and held his hands to the side of his face. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry.”

Peter was laughing and wiping a glob of beans out of his eye. “Generally something that explosive comes  _ after _ eating here.” 

Wade sat in shocked silence for a moment before laughing. By the time he got a hold of himself, his stomach was sore, and Peter had mostly cleaned up his face, which was now scrunched up in a grin.

“It sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Wade wheezed.

“Hmm. Maybe.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye.

{Hm.  _ Definitely _ !}

“Sorry if I upset you. You don’t have to talk about it.” Peter finally took another bite of his taco, which must have been saucless at that point. Oh -- no, there was more dripping out as he bit in.

“No, it was something else.” Wade waved a hand to dismiss it. “I’ll spare you the details, but I scared Spidey off. I knew it was gonna happen sooner or later. I just wish it had been later.”

[It’s better that it was sooner.]

Peter nodded, not in affirmation but in understanding. He looked surprised underneath the expression he had molded his face into.

“But, it’s all good! Now he has more time to save the city and show off that fine ass.” Wade hummed in appreciation.

{That ass is finer than fine.}

“Maybe it’s not too late to fix. Surely he’s not scared off for good, right? I mean, if you were friends. . .” He trailed off with a frown.

Wade shrugged. “Maybe,” he said without believing it. Spidey’s reaction had been crystal-clear, and he hadn’t bothered to call Wade or stop by his apartment. If he had wanted to contact Wade, he could have. No, Spidey wanted nothing more to do with him.

[Spidey knows what’s good for him. He made the right choice.]

Peter stuffed the last bite of taco in his mouth. “Well, there you go. Maybe it’ll work out.”

Wade nodded numbly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some of my favorite alternatives for Yellow's line because I had a lot of fun writing these and ended up with so many of them:  
> -Make like a jacuzzi and jet  
> -Make like a well-functioning engine and run  
> -Make like a fairytale and ride off into the sunset  
> -Make like an elk in Virginia and vamoose  
> So there you go. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Next chapter: communication? what's that?, a party, a very much not-party
> 
> Always yours,  
> Kenwick


	12. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, human experimentation

When Spider-Man’s phone rang, Peter was surprised to find an unknown number instead of Tony’s lighting up the screen. Hoping it wasn’t another sales call, he clicked to answer. “Hello? Spider-Man here.”

“‘Sup, Spider-Man. This is Howie. We met a while ago when you helped me get to the hospital.”

Peter was surprised to get the call and felt a flash of panic at the thought that Howie might be in danger again. “Hi, Howie. Is everything okay?”

There was a scoff from the other end. “‘Okay’ would be generous. People are having fucked-up mutations from whatever shit they did to us in there -- in their shady-ass experiments.”

Peter clenched his jaw. He had hoped that it was over now that they had gotten the people out, but clearly that was too much to hope for. “What can I do about it?” Whatever they needed him for, he would do what he could to help.

“Well,  _ Spider-Man _ , the fucked-up mutations just so happen to be a bit spider-like in nature. So it seems to me like there’s a whole fucking lot you could do.” There was an undertone of anger in their voice, but Peter couldn’t pin down why it was there. 

He wasn’t the one who had performed the unethical experiments. But he did have some ideas on how to help. Since he had experienced a mutation, he could potentially help people learn how to handle the changes they suddenly found themselves faced with.

“I’ll take a look at anyone who wants help. I might be able to help them control their new powers, and I can do some tests if they’re willing. I might be able to help reverse any unwanted effects.” He considered calling Bruce. Even with Peter’s experience in the labs and with spider powers, he could still use the help.

“There’s more,” Howie hissed. “We don’t have the time to wait for you to toddle about in your spider cave mixing potions willy-nilly. People are dying  _ now _ . We already lost another person today.”

His chest tightened. He hadn’t known about that. If people had already died, the problems could do quick damage to the group he had rescued. His mind ran through options and possible solutions to test as soon as he got to the lab. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. Have you mutated, Howie?”

After a drawn-out pause, Howie muttered, “Yeah.”

“Meet me at Stark Tower as soon as you can. You can just tell the receptionist you’re meeting me in room 522.” Peter hopped off the couch and rushed to his closet to grab his Spider-Man suit.

“I’ll bring people.”

“Perfect. The more the merrier.”

\---

Tony rolled back and forth in his chair, watching Peter while chewing on a pen. He had a list of formulas in his lap that he was looking over. Peter was analyzing his blood to compare with other mutates when they came. Once they were done, he would obliterate all the samples. He couldn’t let something like this happen again.

He had called Bruce on his way to the lab, but he had told Peter that he was busy with work in Brazil and would be held up for a while. If he managed to clear his schedule, he would fly back to help however he could. Peter had no idea how likely it was that Bruce could make spare time, so he needed to work with what he had until then.

A few people poked their heads in the room behind Howie, who was strolling in with their hands resting in their pockets. “‘Sup, Spider-Man. Stark.” They nodded in greeting at Tony. Pulling out a hand they gestured to the group behind them. “This is Angela, Dhakiya, and Mike.”

Peter waved tentatively at the people crowded in the door. “Hi. Can we start with anyone who’s willing telling me what changes they’ve been experiencing?”

Dhakiya, a tall woman with a shaved head, stepped forward. “I keep spitting up venom, and look what it has done.” She jabbed a finger at her chin which looked raw and peeling. Holding out her hands, which were also raw and scabbed, she continued, “Please help. I can’t go on like this. My family needs me.”

“Can I take a sample of your venom?”

Peter worked with her and the others to take samples, and Tony helped him create an antidote for the venom as well as create a thin, absorbent fabric for clothing to help with the oil two of them were secreting constantly.

During the whole time he worked with the group of three and Tony, Howie stayed leaned against a wall, watching from a distance. Peter assumed they didn’t want to have more tests done on them, and he wanted to respect that decision. He glanced over at them occasionally to make sure they seemed alright, but besides that he left them alone.

Once they finished, the group of three walked out, leaving Peter, Tony, and Howie as the only ones in the room.

“Thanks for bringing them, Howie. Maybe we can figure all this out before we lose anyone else.”

Howie rolled their eyes and pulled out something from their pocket to roll it over in their hand. It was a pocket knife. “Yeah, yeah. You and I need to talk.” They leveled an unexpected glare at Peter, causing him to stumble back a step.

He took a deep breath to recenter himself. “Okay. What’s up?”

“Not with him here.” They pointed the blade of their knife toward Tony, not taking their eyes off Peter.

Tony looked between them, smirking a bit at Howie’s narrowed eyes and turned-down lips. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to it. Have fun, kiddo.” He moved a hand on top of Peter’s head over his mask, like he was ruffling Peter’s hair. He pushed Tony’s arm away.

Once the door shut behind him, Howie stalked forward and leaned into Peter’s space, their knife still held in front of them, now glinting dangerously close to Peter’s throat. 

“You don’t deserve Deadpool,” they growled darkly, “and if you  _ ever _ hurt my friend again, I  _ will _ find you and tear your fuckin’ throat out myself.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from reaching to protect his throat reflexively. The hum of his spidey sense let him know the threat was real. Had Deadpool talked to Howie about him? What had he said? Peter felt a burst of curiosity, wanting to know anything. At this point, he would settle for any scrap of a sentence from Deadpool.

“I don’t know what you did to him, I don’t know why you did it, and I don’t fucking care. But you better not dare do it again. Don’t even fuckin’  _ think _ about it. Got it?”

Peter nodded. “Look, Howie. I get that Deadpool’s angry, and he has every right to be. I didn’t mean to, and I never would have wanted to break his trust like that. Can you just. . . Can you let him know I’m sorry?”

“Angry? God, you’re just as stupid as he is.”

“He’s not stupid,” Peter snarled before he could stop himself.

Howie rolled their eyes. “Whatever. I’m not your goddamn messenger, Spider-Man. You can tell him yourself.”

But he couldn’t. Deadpool had been nowhere to find for the past few days. Peter didn’t want to barge into his apartment demanding to see him again because that would just be yet another infringement on him and another breach of trust. If Deadpool wanted space away from Peter, he wasn’t going to force his way into that space.

“He’s avoiding me. I can’t talk to him.”

Howie touched the tip of their knife to Peter’s throat. “So figure it out. Not my problem.” They pulled the knife back, flipping it closed, and walked out the door without looking back.

\---

Peter stared at his phone. Even if Deadpool did answer, it didn’t feel right. It was too impersonal, too distanced. Then again, maybe that was what Deadpool would want. Peter couldn’t blame him if he did now that he had betrayed his trust with one grandiosely stupid move. Maybe Deadpool just wanted a call to tell him to piss off and leave him alone, or maybe he just wanted Peter to stay away from him, entirely cutting off contact.

He had stayed out almost the entire night after talking to Howie in hopes of seeing Deadpool patrolling or doing a job somewhere, but he’d had no luck. For all he knew, Deadpool could have skipped town to get away. Again, he couldn’t blame him.

As Peter decided to let things be and give Deadpool more time in case he wanted to call or just show up somewhere in general, his phone rang. His eyes darted down, but his Spider-Man phone wasn’t the one being called. 

He tugged his phone out of his pocket and clicked to pick up when he saw Kat’s name on the screen. “Hey, Kat.”

“Are you okay?”

He ran a hand over his face. “I’m just stressed with work stuff. I’m fine, though. How are you?”

“I’m good. Actually, I just heard from my company, and they’re giving me an award for my work with shrimp populations! There’s going to be a party and that sort of formal speeches stuff. I thought we could go together.”

The excitement and cheer in her voice bled into Peter, and he smiled. He could use a break. “That sounds great!”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she answered, “Awesome! It’s Friday night, so I’ll see you then?”

“Can’t wait.”

\---

When he went to the grocery on Thursday to replace his gauze supply, Peter had not expected to hear Deadpool singing “Fergalicious” on the aisle next to him. It was unmistakably him, though. The exaggerated lilts and half-lyrics that were so signature of him caught Peter’s attention and held him captive.

He looked down, realizing that he was just a normal civilian in the grocery at that moment and not the Spider-Man version of Peter that Deadpool would recognize. In a way, that made it easier to turn the corner into the next aisle as he heard Deadpool approaching.

He startled Deadpool more than he meant to, more than he thought he could. The cart crashed backward, and Peter heard the breath leave Deadpool. He scrambled for something to say. “Sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

“The singing didn’t tip you off?” He sounded incredulous. Fair. Even if Peter didn’t have super hearing, he still would have noticed the bulking man clattering down the aisle on his cart and singing ever so slightly off-key.

“I was just lost in thought.” Not a great excuse, but it was the best he could come up with as he stood there seeing Deadpool again for the first time in over a week. It felt almost surreal.

As Peter let out a string of apologies that must have not made a lick of sense, Deadpool kept awkwardly trying to hide in his jacket while simultaneously giving Peter weird looks from under his hood.

“It’s cool. All is forgiven.” When he continued after a pause, he was more hesitant. “Do you know me?”

Peter’s mind raced back to the time he had met Deadpool, when he was in his civilian form. “Uh, yeah. You broke my camera. Deadpool, right?” He wasn’t sure if he had learned Deadpool’s name as Peter, but he hoped Deadpool wouldn’t remember either.

He apologized for the camera, which Peter hadn’t expected. He had learned a lot about Deadpool since the first day, but so much of him was still an enigma to Peter.

Their awkward talk came to a distinct end, but Peter didn’t want to go. His chest ached at the idea that he might not have another chance to see Deadpool if he really was avoiding Spider-Man. So he stood there, making the situation even more painfully awkward, as Deadpool continued shopping.

The cashier walking up turned out to be a blessing in Peter’s eyes. Deadpool handed him a wallet, which was a weird decision, but he was a deadly mercenary who would inflict all kinds of horrors on someone who stole from him. He probably didn’t worry too much about a scrawny-looking guy who he would assume he could beat up if necessary. This wasn’t trust. It was an assumption that Peter wouldn’t dare mess with him. Peter doubted he would ever earn back any level of trust.

When Deadpool offered to get tacos with him at Tía’s, Peter eagerly agreed. It was MJ’s favorite spot for Mexican food, and he made a mental note to take her there again sometime soon.

Eating tacos with Deadpool felt normal and comfortable. It was easy to slip back into a time where they were friends, but when Deadpool brought up Spider-Man, Peter was yanked back to the unpleasant present.

“Oh, you’re, uh, you’re friends with Spider-Man?” It was weird to talk about himself like that, and he felt a flash of guilt for the hidden double-life, but he was dying to know Deadpool’s perspective.

“Not anymore.”

The response was like a punch to the gut. Peter felt physically nauseous to hear Deadpool confirm his worst fear. He didn’t want Spider-Man as a friend anymore. Peter had really, truly ruined it.

So he decided to make things worse for himself and just dive headfirst into the how and why of Deadpool rejecting him. “What happened?”

“Shut up! It was an honest mistake!”

A burrito attacked Peter’s face, blinding him for a moment with beans to the eyes. He tried to break the tension with a joke, but once he had cleaned himself up, he couldn’t help but circle back. “Sorry if I upset you.” It seemed like all he could do was vague, nonsense apologies instead of saying what he meant. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

But then Deadpool did, however briefly. Peter winced at the obvious pain in his voice that seeped through even when he tried to brush it off with a joke about Peter’s butt.

“Maybe it’s not too late to fix. Surely he’s not scared off for good, right? I mean, if you were friends. . .” But had they been friends? Barely. Peter thought they could have been.

“Maybe.” His voice was light and easy. He sounded like he barely even cared.

Peter, more out of naïve hope than genuine belief, said, “Well, there you go. Maybe it’ll work out.”

Deadpool only hummed a “Yeah, maybe.” in response before switching the topic to Halloween and his plan to go as Bea Arthur dressed as a pirate.

"That sounds complicated.”

“Costumes are all about the layers, baby. See, you only get one night a year -- that is, if you’re a coward who thinks that it’s unacceptable to go to the bookstore as a princess or alien or whatever the fuck you want. Which, I’m not, but the point still stands -- you only get one night where it’s normalized, and you have to take full advantage.” Deadpool swung his arms about wildly during his rant, nearly knocking over his glass of water. His voice was just as animated, and Peter found himself drawn in.

“So why not go as an alien princess who just so happens to be dressed like a zombie scarecrow?” Peter tried to imagine a picture in his head of what that would look like, but he remained unsuccessful.

“Exactly!” That time he did knock over the glass, and it poured a deluge directly into his lap. He shrieked and hopped up. “Holy shit mommy hopkins! It’s so cold! Oh my god.” He was hopping in place with frantic motions but not actually doing anything about it.

Peter held out an extra cloth napkin from the table. “Here.”

He took it and sat back down to pat himself off. “My hero.”

That was the second time he had called Peter a hero, but surely he didn’t know who Peter was. There was no way he would. Right? Cringing at his own paranoia, he pushed the thoughts down where they settled as a sloshing weight in his stomach.

“Whew. That was so cold I think I think I invited the cocksicle.”

Peter squinted in confusion.

“Anywho,” Deadpool looked around the restaurant, which had been all but empty since they entered. “I do have milk in one of these grocery bags somewhere, and I think it has probably reached the ‘microwave-for-15-seconds’ temperature I needed for the recipe, so I’ve gotta rush.” He gathered the bags in his hands and stood up from the table.

“Yeah, you don’t want it to cook to 20-seconds temperature before you can get home." Peter also moved to get up. "Thanks for the tacos."

“For you? Anytime.”

With a grin, Peter watched Deadpool walk out and wave through the window as he made his way down the street.

\---

Kat had texted him the party details and where he should meet her at, so he scanned the area when he made it in hopes of seeing her nearby. A wave caught his attention, and he saw Kat behind a group of people with her hand raised high above heads. He walked up to her. Grinning, she twirled, showing off the black dress she wore. She had a necklace of shimmering white pearls that was draped over her neck, bringing attention to her collarbones. When she smiled at Peter, her teeth were a dazzling white, stark against the background of a starlit night in a park. She was breathtaking, and Peter swallowed hard. He counted himself immensely lucky to know someone who was so smart and so beautiful.

The park was in front of the building where the main portion of the event would be held, but Kat seemed to be enjoying herself outside, a glass of champagne in her hand. 

“You look stunning.”

The corners of her lips tugged up, and she looked down at the floor. “Thanks. You, too. Do you want to grab a drink or snack inside?”

“No, I just want to be here with you.” He took a step forward to close the distance between them and felt her grin against his mouth.

“The night makes you romantic. I’ll keep it in mind.” She leaned her forehead onto his shoulder briefly before pulling away, a hand trailing over his shoulder. “Come on, I want to show you the fountain.”

Letting her grab his hand, he followed after her to a classical fountain that reflected the starlight in flashes of white. She sipped her champagne before handing the glass to Peter.

The award ceremonies were less fun, but Peter couldn’t stop grinning when Kat went up to receive her award and give a speech. She spoke eloquently, pristinely. Her glowing white smile was unwavering.

Then came a long speech from the president of the company, detailing their goals and dreams with vague platitudes. When Kat snuck back to sit next to him, the event became more bearable again. She tucked an arm around him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me,” she whispered.

He leaned his forehead to hers. “Of course.”

Once the ceremonies ended, Kat tugged on his arm to pull him outside. This time, instead of the fountain, she brought him to a carved wooden bench that provided an excellent view of the city.

As Kat leaned toward him, tires grinding against gravel set off Peter’s spidey senses. He pulled away and stood up to scan the area. The vibrations were travelling toward him from the left, so he kept track of the progress, trying to figure out which direction they were going.

As the magnitude of the vibrations increased, his heart pounded in his chest. The threat was moving toward them. He ran toward the vehicle, ignoring Kat’s confused shouts. By the time he was near enough to see that it was one of the vans, like a ghost haunting him. More vibrations made their way to him from a van in the opposite direction. They were moving toward Kat.

He ran back, but she was already being pulled, kicking and screaming, into the van. “Hey!” he screamed, “Kat, I’m coming after you! I’ll get you out of there!”

As the van peeled off, he had no idea if she had heard him. He ran into an alley to scale a wall and tugged on his mask and web-shooters once he reached the roof. Not bothering to change the rest of his clothes, he swung after the van, sticking to the shadows and heights to avoid being spotted by the people he was tailing.

Instead of going to the abandoned warehouse Deadpool had blasted a chunk out of, the van led him to a hotel building on the outskirts of the city. The van pulled into the parking lot, and Peter watched as two goons dragged Kat in. She looked knocked out, like Peter had been when they caught him.

He swung in through a window, bracing himself before he broke through the pane. Once in, he looked around to find the rooms or cells like the warehouse. The floor he was on was dark, but he could tell that the hotel rooms had been changed into more experimentation rooms. The sight made him nauseous.

He raced down a flight of stairs to a floor that was well lit, hoping that was where they were actively working. As he stepped onto the floor, his spidey senses screamed bloody murder at him, and he lept to the side. The white-haired lady was back, and Peter was, of course, thrilled to see her again. She had swung a syringe toward his arm. It ended up stuck in the wall.

Shooting a glare at Peter, she blooped out of existence. Peter searched frantically but couldn’t see nor sense her. This was not invisibility like Sue Storm’s. He would have been able to sense that. It was something much more undetectable to Peter, and he had no clue what it was.

A spark of spidey senses was all he got before a syringe plunged into his arm.

\---

Waking up, Peter found himself in a terrifyingly familiar situation. Once again, he was de-masked, strapped down, and hooked up to a machine. No one else was in the room, so he yanked against the restraints. They held. Even with all his strength, they showed no sign of straining.

That was disappointing.

The door opened, slamming into the wall.

“Okay, let’s get this over with quickly.” The white-haired lady tugged a latex glove on with a rubbery slap against her wrist. 

“If you would just loosen the restraints for me, I could make it real quick for you.” Peter bared his teeth in fake cheer.

She smiled back with the same feign. “I’m sure you’d like that.” Turning to one of the guards who walked in with her, she scoffed, “Can’t we muzzle him again?”

“You know what the boss said. No venom, no muzzle.”

Well. That was so generous of her. At least Peter could keep up the quips while they tortured him for the purpose of torturing other people. He examined the restraints for weaknesses, desperately looking for an opportunity to escape and save Kat from this fate.

With a shake of her head, white-haired lady began her log. “Begin recording. Test subject 41P has been returned to his position and is about to be prepared for the next phase. The data acquired from previous sessions appears to be successful thus far, but diligent monitoring will continue throughout the process. In the meantime, Akadi has requested long-term immobilization of the subject to ensure the protection of the project. This is October the nineteenth in the year 2020.”

Long-term immobilization? Peter did not like the sound of that. Nothing here was going to be long-term because he was going to figure a way out and get all the other prisoners free.

“Does everything have to be bland perfection here? I mean, white walls, thorough processes, lack of humor. It’s pretty boring, don’t you think?”

The glint in her eye sent chills down Peter’s spine. “The next part is going to be quite fun. For me, at least.”

She walked to the end of the table nearer the door where Peter’s legs were restrained flat against the table. “Gérard? Begin.”

Peter felt the snap before he heard it. His scream drowned out the sound of it reverberating against white walls. It felt like they had broken his leg clean off. His breaths came in gasps, and his jaw was clenched so hard that his teeth ached. The ceiling above him spun and wavered.

“I would give you something to bite down on, but to be frank, if you bite your tongue off, it’s only a bonus for me.”

The second break in his leg sent waves of pain up his body, pooling in a pit of nausea in his stomach. He blinked over and over, trying to clear his head.

By the time they made the first break in his second leg, he only felt a numb tingling sensation. He didn’t know if shock had set in or if they had given him pain meds through the IV in his arm.

Gérard finished and exited the room, leaving only Peter and the white-haired lady.

“Fun enough for you?”

He blinked up at her. 

A smug smirk spread across her face, and she turned away, leaving Peter on his own in the room.

The pain came back eventually. It throbbed through his legs in a never-ending ache that robbed his attention. He couldn’t sleep or move, only lay there and try to think his way out through the pain. He thought it was a bit overkill for ‘long-term immobilization,’ but this group sure seemed to love their drama almost as much as they loved pain.

On other people, of course, not themselves.

His mind wandered to Kat, another person he had ruined the life of because of his work as a superhero. Images flashed through his mind of Kat enduring the same things he had already seen the organization do to him and others. If anything happened to her, if she died, it would all be his fault. He shouldn’t have gotten her involved.

When Kat pushed open the door to his room, he thought he was dreaming or it was a pain-induced image, something like a mirage. She stood in the doorway, her dark hair a welcome change from the white walls and ceiling.

“Kat,” he murmured. “How did you escape?” He strained against the restraints, trying to reach out to her. They didn’t give.

She walked over to him and leaned down to his ear. “I didn’t,” she breathed, the air ghosting over his ear. Leaning back, she flashed a wicked, white smile at him.

This wasn’t right. There must have been hallucinogens in the IV. Maybe this was a shapeshifter. This couldn’t be Kat who was so kind, and gentle, and forgiving. This was some cheap imitation meant to distract him from getting out. A long-term immobilization technique.

Tilting her chin up, letting the fluorescent lights dance over her skin, she sighed. “My name is Katherine Akadi. You can still call me Kat. It’s nice to finally meet you, Peter Parker.” She paused to tilt her head. “Well, officially.”

“It’d be nicer without the torture, restraints, and mind games.” Peter glared at whoever this was who was standing in front of him.

She rolled her eyes, letting her whole head guide the motion. Her pearl necklace caught the light and shimmered white. “After all this time, it almost feels too easy.”

The pain radiating from his legs and his racing thoughts flurried together, impossible to sort. So he focused on her voice, the way it moved and softened in places just like Kat’s Everything about her utterly screamed Kat, but this was not the person he knew. He backed over the thought. No, this was not the person he  _ thought _ he knew.

Looking into her eyes, he realized with a nauseating sense of dread that he had thought wrong.

She moved to fiddle with the machine by the table.

Peter forced words out from the jumble of thoughts in his mind. “We destroyed the -- Deadpool made sure. It was done.”

Without even bothering to turn around, Kat scoffed at him. “What? Did you really think your little stunt at such a minor branch would tear the whole organization down?” She finally moved back to him, but it was only to press a finger against his leg, poking the digit into the skin above one of the fractures.

Peter tensed and tried to pull away from the resulting pain. What had been a dull ache sharpened into what felt like a needle stabbing through his bone.

She released the pressure. “This is only the beginning.” Moving back to the machine, she pressed a button. “Time to sleep, little spider. You’ll need your rest.”

Something black oozed through the IV, sliding toward his arm. While Peter watched in gross fascination, Kat strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the tiles. The tiny vibrations fluttered through the table and to Peter. They were familiar, her footsteps, but Peter suddenly didn’t recognize them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllll, you caught me. Kat is indeed A Baddie.  
> And now things are grimmer than ever (?) as we go into the next chapter.
> 
> Next chapter: a healthy dose of déjà vu (whoops), a revelation, a switcheroo
> 
> With regret,  
> Kenwick


	13. Anti-Hero Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

After way too many hours of work, the lasagna turned out delicious. Wade gobbled down half the tray and stuck the rest in the fridge for later, scooping out moldy take-out containers to make room for it.

Once he had changed his suit and checked the stash of weapons strapped to him, he fell into bed.

[That does not seem safe.]

{We’ve done it before. Besides, it’s not like we can die.}

“Hush up. It’s sleepy time in the city that never sleeps.” Wade rolled over and plumped up his pillow. The boxes simply did not know when to STFU. All he asked for was a few hours of rest, but too often he ended up with a long night full of stupid comments.

[I am both intelligent and articulate, so go fuck yourself.]

“Well, obviously I’m tempted, but even your delightful idea can’t get me out of this suit, Whitey, dear.” Wade adjusted a knife that was digging into his thigh.

A phone rang from the living room. Because of course fuck o’ clock in the night was the perfect time to do business.

{It is for us. Sleep is for the weak.}

He flipped open the phone -- Don’t judge. It was just a burner -- and answered, “You have reached Deadpool, please leave your target and credit card info at the beep. . .  _ beep _ .”

Something crackled on the other end before the person responded. “Hello, Wade Wilson. Your presence has been requested at the Aconite Hotel on Brookville Blvd.” There was a pause in which Wade heard something buzzing. “That is, unless you want Spider-Man to pay the price of your duplicity. We take our contracts very seriously.”

His stomach dropped. How had they caught Spider-Man again? He thought that they had taken care of this organization already. It meant he was not free of them as he had thought.

“Aconite Hotel on Brookville Blvd. You have one hour.” There was a click, and the call ended.

{Did they. . . actually think we were a voicemail?}

[Or they didn’t care what we had to say.]

“They have Spidey.” Wade stood frozen with the phone still held to his ear.

{OMG, babes! This is our hero moment!}

[At best it would be an anti-hero moment. We are never the hero.]

Wade ran to his guest room and yanked down weapons to stuff as many as he could into his suit. They had Spidey again, and this time he didn’t know the building they were sending him to. If he was lucky, Spidey would be there instead of in some unknown location.

“It’s time to storm the castle, bois.”

\---

Twenty minutes later, Wade crouched on the building next to the hotel, examining the area. No one entered or exited the hotel, and any movement inside was blocked from view by curtains and blinds. It looked, for all intents and purposes, abandoned.

Wade shot his grappling hook into the side of the building and swung down, rappelling to the floor. The plan was to meet them inside like they had asked long enough to figure out if he was in the right spot. Then, all hell would break loose.

{ ♪ _ We can fly if you’d only cut loose, footloose _ . ♪ }

Wade waltzed through the door and into a lobby that was a withering mess of poor design choices. The green carpet spiralled in unattractive patterns, and the gaudy glass chandeliers attacked his vision with light reflected in a bazillion directions. Wade wanted to burn the place to the ground for multiple reasons now -- the fact that it was ugly AF and that the bastards who inhabited it had taken Spidey.

[Arson is reasonable under present circumstances.]

{Burn this shithole down.}

Someone sauntered into the room with long, smooth strides. Although she was not the woman who had been the ringleader of his torture, Wade got the same feeling of sick dread from the person in front of him now. She held herself as if she was important, and she sized Wade up like he was a lost child she couldn’t be bothered with.

“Deadpool.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you want?”

She strode the rest of the distance between them, apparently ignoring social norms to invade Wade’s personal space.

{It’s a power move. I respect that.}

“I have options for you. One --” She held up a finger. “-- you can give us the information we hired you to get and forget any of this ever happened.”

Wade nodded. “Voluntary amnesia, got it. What’s behind door number two? Do tell.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. He couldn’t wait to spill her guts over the horrendous carpet. Maybe that would be option number two.

[That seems highly unlikely.]

“Two --” She raised another finger. “-- is that we take what we want by force. We could always use another test subject, and you were so good for us last time.”

Yes, Wade did have many skills, so he wasn’t surprised to hear that. He would still rather jump into a shark-infested volcano than be another experiment, though.

[Sharks in a volcano would be dead, and it is the same as jumping into a normal volcano.]

“It’s the general vibe of the thing that we’re going for here.” Wade had thought that was obvious.

[I hope they throw you into an active stratovolcano to explode and have your parts scattered.]

“Well, that’s not very nice.” Wade refocused on the woman in front of him. She looked nonplussed by his conversation and was still holding up two fingers for him to choose from. He grabbed her middle finger and shook it. “Door number two it is.”

She smirked and moved her hand so she was grabbing Wade’s wrist. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She twisted his arm behind him and pulled up, popping his shoulder out of its socket. Wade slammed back his other arm to jab an elbow into her gut, but she had pulled away. As he turned toward her and pulled out a gun, someone shot something into him from behind.

“I have work to do, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” When she grinned, it was hazy like Wade was looking at her underwater. She turned on a heel and walked down a hallway.

Everything blurred and swam, and he felt his legs trembling under him. Whatever they had shot him with was making him sluggish. As much as he wanted to lay down and just take a  _ quick _ nap, his instincts kicked in to stay up and readied. He was not going to become their project again.

[We’ve had quite enough of that, thank you.]

Wade re-socketed his arm and unsheathed his katanas as the person who had shot him ran at him with a fucking bo staff of all things. Wade missed simpler times of guns. He was kind of in a rush, okay? But, hey, he could hold his own in hand to hand. It was exhilarating in its own way.

{Yeah, and the art of steel against flesh? *moan*}

They grappled while more guards swarmed in, grouped together. The group must have been waiting a short distance away to take Wade down if he chose option two.

{Gun ‘em down, big guy! For Spidey!}

[To be clear, I think we should be focusing on keeping us alive above all else.]

{Selfish bastard.}

[Lovesick fool.]

Wade blocked a hit directed at his ribs and swung his katana to force a block that upset his opponent’s balance. Taking advantage of the slight waver, he shoved the other katana into the person’s thigh. It cut through like a hot knife to butter, burying to the hilt. Pulling it back out was more work, but Wade managed and prepared his stance for the second wave of enemies.

Blinking back the fatigue, Wade set to work, shooting, stabbing, and punching down people as they made their way to him. The bullets ripping through his torso and limbs did nothing to phase him.

{ ♪ _ I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away. _ ♪ }

Blood and guts flew, coating the garish carpet with a lovely red layer. Heads rolled. It was like the fucking French Revolution in that hotel.

{Lucky for us, we already lost our head, so we only have one left anyway.}

[Back to the fighting, Yellow. You’re ruining the tense atmosphere of the scene.]

“It’s not tense. There’s no competition.” A bullet directly to the heart staggered Wade for a moment, leaving him dizzy while it healed itself. Someone took advantage and reached for him with one of those blasted gloves. Wade rolled back, pinning someone’s foot to the ground with a knife as he tumbled.

{Gold medal for the floor routine goes to. . .}

Landing in a crouched position -- classic hero style, you know the one -- he surveyed the scene before him. Five moving bodies remained amongst the unmoving ones that Wade was frankly too lazy to count.

[It’s called maximizing our energy.]

{Our energy is bountiful and overflowing. Can’t stop, won’t stop.}

Wade shot his grappling hook to the chandelier and pulled out a throwing knife. He swung across the floor, launching himself into someone’s chest, slamming against the floor on top of them, and throwing his knife into another person’s eye.

Yellow's singing was muffled in the background as Wade entered a shooting match with the remaining three people. One of them backed away when they saw that Wade didn’t even flinch to the barrage of bullets taking a short vacation through him before continuing on their way, but the other two people remained persistent.

[Idiots.]

“You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that, but you’ve had your shot. Well, actually a bunch of them. It’s my turn.” Wade pulled out a gun in the cool western movie way, imagining that the chandelier was the sun. It wasn’t hard to do.

Three shots in succession downed the remaining people. Wade blew over the barrel of his gun.

In the bloody aftermath of the battle, Wade hoped desperately that Spidey was in the hotel and not locked up miles away. If worse came to worst, he could always force the answers out of someone.

{We  _ could _ just do it anyway.}

“Speed is of the essence, Yellow. We can’t just leave Spidey in the hands of these snivelling rats.” He holstered the gun, gathered his grappling hook, and ran down a hallway.

The hotel was smaller than its ostentatious decor would have you believe. Wade had counted maybe ten stories when he was outside, and the cost of land in the city meant people built up, not out.

He avoided people by slipping into rooms when he heard footsteps around him. The first two floors were near empty and easy to navigate, but the farther up he went, the trickier it became.

[Which means we’re going in the right direction. Although, I still don’t agree with the plan.]

“Your opinion has been duly noted and filed in the trash bin.” Wade slipped a door closed just in time to avoid the heavy boots stomping down the hall. When he peeked back out, he found a door to a staircase for maintenance workers. Figuring these people had little use for backroads in their own base, he worked his way to the stairs.

He didn’t stop until he reached the top floor. When he stepped out, he was surprised to find that the garish embellishments and colors had been stripped and replaced with stark white coating every surface. It was no less of an eyesore.

Movement and voices echoed down the halls from every direction. There was no way Wade could sneak his way through this floor. On the bright side (which was every side in this wintery wonderland), he recognized the beeping and crackling on the level.

[It still doesn’t mean we’re in the right spot.]

In order to get far enough to find out if they were, Wade needed a distraction. Or a way to sneak by unnoticed.

[Good luck with that. We turn heads with or without the suit -- and not in a good way.]

He pulled out a mirror to check the halls while remaining mostly hidden behind the door. After a moment, someone strolled down the hall with a cart that she pushed in front of her. It had vials, bags, and other knick knacks on it that gave Wade hope that he was in the right spot. If not where they kept the prisoners, it was at least a lab that had information about them -- and probably their location, as well.

Slipping the mirror back into a pouch, he timed the pace of the person until she would be next to the door and slid out of his spot, wrapping one hand over her mouth and holding a knife to her throat with the other.

He pulled her into his hiding nook and pushed her against the wall. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to pretend all is as good as a nine to five can be, and I’ll join you for your stroll. If you let anyone see me or if you tell anyone, well. . .” He pushed the knife against her throat to remind her of its presence. “I think a clever person like you can figure it out.”

Her eyes glanced back and forth between the whites of his mask. He narrowed them in a glare.

{Intimidation 100.}

“Do you know where the prisoners are?”

She nodded with a wince, and he released the pressure on her throat. No point in hurting someone who was complying.

{Have you never heard of fun?}

“Do you know where Spider-Man is?”

A few beats passed before she let out a hesitant nod. Wade slumped with relief for a moment before resuming his menacing stance. He needed to stay focused to get Spidey out of the hellhole he was in. “In this hotel?”

Another nod.

“Take me to him.” He maneuvered them so that she walked out of the door in front of him after he listened for movement outside. Slipping behind the cart to stay hidden while they moved, he shot her a pointed look while lifting his knife.

{Hah, pointed.}

To her credit, she remained more calm than most people in her situation would. They didn’t end up passing anyone in the hall, but she did nod to acknowledge someone greeting her from a room. Wade slunk by behind the cart, hidden from view. After only one turn to another hall, she stopped in front of a room.

“This is it.” She glanced back and forth down the hall.

He moved fluidly from his hiding place to her back, mimicking the stance he held earlier. “Sorry, but I can’t have you tattling on me.”

They walked into the room, and Wade pulled the door shut behind them with eyes squished shut. He remembered all too well how these people had left him when they caught him, and he didn’t want to force Spidey into revealing his face if he wasn’t ready to.

{ ♪ _ R-e-s-p-e-c-t. Find out what it means to me _ . ♪ }

“Deadpool?” Spidey’s voice was groggy and dry, but he was alive. And Wade had found him. He was here. Wade almost couldn’t believe it. His heart soared.

“Wait, Deadpool, I don’t have my mask.” His slurred words were laced with panic, understandably. 

“No worries, babe. I won’t look.” He assumed that his captive already knew since she had led him to Spidey. Wade wanted to kill her to protect his spider, but he knew he wouldn’t appreciate Wade’s efforts. Stupid functioning moral compasses.

[Oh, please. You wish you had one.]

{ _ I _ don’t. Too boring for my tastes.}

[You have no tastes.]

Letting go of the woman, he moved forward to reach for the table and felt his way to the end where Spidey’s head would be. Once he shielded his vision enough that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to see Spidey, he opened his eyes and found the machinery that controlled the restraints.

A lucky guess later, and he heard the restraints click open.

[‘Lucky.’ More like lazy writing.]

Wade fumbled to pull off his second mask that he had been wearing ever since, well, the last time he had seen Spidey. After he carefully peeled off the layer, he handed it to Spidey. “Here, you can be my clone for a chapter. But I will want it back.”

He heard the shuffling of cloth but waited for the all clear from Spidey before opening his eyes. His mouth parted in surprise when he saw Spidey sitting on the table in a hospital gown and Wade’s mask. “Damn. On second thought, keep it.”

[What is this, some sick form of autophilia?]

{Who knew Spidey would finally figure out a way to make us love ourself.}

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s impossible. Never gonna happen.” Wade tore his eyes away from the sight and offered a hand to help Spidey off the table.

{Chivalry isn’t dead for Deadpool.}

When Spidey didn’t move, Wade looked back. He was just sitting there, fiddling with the thin scrap of clothing that Wade was trying not to focus on.

{Nice try. We’re still a perv.}

[At least you’re self-aware now, Yellow.]

{Oooh, is Whitey jealous? I know, you’re upset because you’re an unfeeling rock who can’t appreciate beauty in the world.}

“Stop it. We need to focus on getting out of here.” Wade smacked a hand against the side of his head, which earned him a concerned look from Spidey. Even with a different mask, his expressions still managed to show.

{It’s like looking in a mirror.}

[We haven’t done that in years.]

Spidey shifted his legs over the side of the table and tensed. He almost stifled a whimper.

Wade finally looked at Spidey and felt searing white anger bubble up at the sight of his legs. They looked painted with mottled colors and were clearly broken at odd angles. The sight put Wade in a very unaliving mood. “Shit, Spidey. You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel it, too.” He moved to slide off the bed, but Wade used a hand to hold him back.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

His breathing was ragged. “We need to get out of here.”

{Points for determination. I doubt even Spidey’s pain tolerance is enough, though.}

From the look of it, his legs were not just a little broken, they were a lot broken. For a moment, Wade was torn between wanting to find and rip apart whoever did this to Spidey and wanting to stay to take care of him. The moment did not last long. Spidey needed him there now.

“We could roll you on the cart, but that seems like risky business.”

Spidey choked out a laugh. “I managed in a laundry basket down the stairs and a grocery cart down the street.”

“Wow, wild child. I still don’t think it’s our best plan here.” He glanced at the rolling cart the woman had brought into the room. It wouldn’t work. Even if they managed to keep him secured up there, there was no way they could sneak out like that. “Can I carry you?”

Spidey stuttered out an affirmative, and Wade moved his arms under Spidey’s armpits and knees to cradle him. He lifted as carefully as he could, but the jostling motions still caused Spidey to tense in his arms and hiss in pain.

He walked toward the window in the room with cautious steps.

“Wait.”

The voice from behind startled him. He had almost forgotten about the woman who had guided him to Spidey.

Fear shone in her eyes. “Please let me go with you. They’ll kill me.”

Wade assumed that was true. From what he had seen, these people had little room for mercy. Running over the options in his head, he figured the harm in allowing her to tag along on their prison break was minimal. If she did try to pull anything, he could always kill her before she could kill either of them.

[Be careful, Wade.]

{I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re always careful.}

“Alright, c’mere.” He jerked his head toward the window. “Hey, Spidey, can you do some of your sticky thing so I can free up a hand?”

“Sticky thing.” His exasperation was palpable, and Wade could practically hear an eyeroll. He wrapped an arm around Wade’s shoulder, holding up his own upper body to free up Wade’s left hand.

“Thanks, babe. You just hang out there while I carry you over the threshold.” He smashed the window with some clever pistol whipping. Pulling out his grappling hook, he aimed at the building across the street.

Spidey tugged lightly at his suit. “Wait. There’re more people here.” He seemed dazed and weak, which worried Wade, but that was a problem he didn’t have time to deal with then.

“We have to come back for them. I can’t fight our way out like this.” His chest tightened when he looked down at Spidey and saw his scrunched up face radiating distress. Wade melted. “I’m sorry, Spidey. We’ll go back, I swear.”

“When will it stop?”

Wade didn’t know exactly what he was referring to, so he settled on providing a reassuring squeeze and focused back on the grappling hook. He adjusted his aim to the spot above the window they were leaning out of, making it easier to rappel down the side of the building.

Pulling out an extra set of gloves from one of his pouches, he handed them to the woman to protect her hands on the way down.

{We’re like fuckin’ Mary Poppins with all our pouches. Are you hiding a hatpole somewhere in there, big guy?}

[It’s called a coat rack, dumbass.]

“Thanks for the lesson. And yes, I am practically perfect in every way.” He hopped down at the end of his sentence, making his way down as smoothly as he could for Spidey’s sake.

{Obviously not our own. No one could give a shit about us.}

By the time he reached ground, the woman was halfway down. Her movements were unsure, but she was managing as well as could be expected.

She landed with shaky legs and narrowly avoided crumpling to the ground by steadying herself against the wall.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Spidey asked the woman.

She nodded. “I have a place they won’t know to look.”

Wade reached in a pouch and pulled out a handful of bills. He pushed them toward her. “Here. So they can’t track your card for a while.”

She nodded her gratitude and jogged off into the dim horizon. The sky was just beginning to lighten, but the sun was not yet visible.

Wade secured his hold under Spidey, with both hands now, and began his own trip home in the opposite direction of the woman. Spidey was quiet on the way, and Wade assumed he was sleeping, so he stayed quiet as well.

{Do you think he’ll be okay?}

Even Yellow was using hushed tones. Wade took a deep breath. “Yeah, we’ll take care of him.” As much as he wanted to believe the words, he felt doubt nag at the back of his mind, tugging apart his optimism strand by strand as he walked.

\---

Wade set Spidey onto his bed when he made it to his apartment, taking extra care with his battered legs. “Hey, Spidey, wake up for me, babe.” He nudged at Spidey’s arm gently, and he stirred for a moment before sitting up in the bed and proceeding to fall back down with a pained grunt.

“Careful there.” Wade adjusted the pillows to make the bed maximally comfortable. “So, this is gonna suck, but I need to get your bones back in the right place for you. I have pain meds. Fuck, they might be expired.” 

He ran to the bathroom to grab the bottle. They hadn’t expired, thank Death. Rushing back, he shoved the bottle into Spidey’s hand. “Do you know how much to take for your metabolism?”

Spidey nodded. “Basically, hella.” He downed a bunch with the glass of water Wade had poured.

“Same here.” Wade grinned. He rarely used them anyway. They didn’t do much against the near-constant pain, both from injuries in his line of work and bad skin days. “Let me know when they kick in.”

“Thanks for coming for me, ‘Pool.”

“Pfshh. I’d come for you any day of eternity.” Wade crawled on the other side of the bed to lay down. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the cracked ceiling.

Spidey nudged his arm. “I don’t doubt it.”

“You have too much faith in me.”

He felt Spidey shift and noticed that he had sat up a bit. “No, I don’t.” 

Wade turned his head to search Spidey’s face for some sign of a joke. It was Spidey he was talking to here. But it didn’t look like a joke. It was probably a joke, right?

[Your circling thoughts are making me dizzy. Shut up, will you?]

{I think it was a joke.}

Wade swallowed. Of course it was. Duh. “So what happened back there? I thought we had already handled that particular line of plot.”

“I thought so, too. It turns out my. . . someone I trusted turned out to be leading this the whole time. And it seems to be bigger than we thought.” Spidey yawned and smushed backward into the pile of pillows.

Had Wade given him non-drowsy meds? He checked the label, and he had. This was probably regular old fatigue. Not like he could blame Spidey after all the shit he had apparently been through. Wade wasn’t sure who the person was, but it didn’t really matter. No matter who it was, that shit sucked.

{Who could betray our precious spider?}

“We’ll figure it out.” Wade tried to sound more confident than he felt. Spidey needed some hope.

Another wiggle of his legs, and Spidey sighed. “Okay, I think I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

Wade hopped off the bed and walked around to the other side, leaning over Spidey’s legs. His jaw clenched upon seeing the damage again.

[Yeah, fuck whoever betrayed him.]

{Even White agrees with us. That’s how you know it’s mega bad.}

Wade felt along the limb for the spot he needed to fix. Spidey hissed and slammed a fist into a pillow.

He let go. “Are you sure you don’t wanna just go to a hospital?” Wade did not want to hurt him. Spidey could get some good anesthesia and an experienced doc.

“No, not the hospital. You can do it, right?”

Wade nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. He moved his grip back to the correct spot and hesitated only a moment before adjusting the fracture and resetting it into the correct position. He didn’t want to dawdle and waste time causing Spidey any extra pain.

Spidey punched the pillow again but didn’t react much beyond that.

“Ready for round two?” He tried to sound cheery. It didn’t work.

[You need to work on your bedside manner.]

{Ooh, we could dress up as a nurse.}

After the affirmative nod, Wade continued to reset the rest of the breaks. Once he was done, he fashioned splints to hold Spidey’s legs in place while he healed.

“Do you have to set your own legs when they break?”

Wade looked up at Spidey in surprise. He hadn’t expected the question, but he supposed it made sense. “Nah, they do it themselves. Quite the Fix It Felixes they are. Certainly feels like a tiny golden hammer.”

Peter laughed. “I can’t believe they held out on me. I could have used some golden hammering myself.”

“I’d still be happy to provide.”

“I’m sure you would.”

The silence stretched on after that, but it was comfortable. The sun peeked in through the window and cast pink light over everything, making the world seem far too happy for such a day. Still, it was nice to see something cheery after all the shit that went down. So, all in all, that moment right then was pleasant.

For that one moment, Wade allowed himself to relax and drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We passed 50k words! Thanks for sticking around, and an extra big thanks for all the lovely comments you all have given. You are so kind and supportive, and it means the world to me. Thank you.
> 
> Also, caps lock is so funny to me because I’ll just be writing, and then I’ll accidentally bump it, so it’s like “THAT SOUNDS COMPLICATED.” And I’m like. . . I was just chilling over here, and then Peter started screaming? For what?? For why? Is happening??? :P
> 
> Eternally yours,  
> Kenwick


	14. Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: emetophobia

The deep ache in Peter’s legs lingered, still nagging at his mind when he woke up hours later. Another glass of water was on the nightstand next to him, so lifted his mask up to gulp it down with more painkillers. The bottle of pills was already nearly empty, so he would have to get to his apartment or buy something at the store soon if he didn’t want to be in agonizing pain again.

Setting the glass back down, he noticed a chunky red sweater folded neatly on the corner of the bed. Peter stretched to reach it without jostling his legs much, and he found a pair of underwear and sweatpants under the sweater. He ripped off the hospital gown, glad to be rid of it, and tugged the sweater on over his head. He had to roll the sleeves up a couple times, and it hung weirdly on his frame, but it was soft and warm. With more effort and time, he managed to get the underwear on but didn’t bother with pants. Not worth the effort.

His stomach growled, reminding him how long it had been since he had last had something to eat. The people who tortured him had not exactly offered him a buffet during his stay.

He shot a web up to the ceiling and pulled himself up, sticking to the ceiling with his fingertips to crawl out the door. His legs hung and flopped painfully, but it was bearable.

When he entered the living room and kitchen, he found Deadpool on the couch eating something and playing Smash. He took a couple bites before landing a flurry of hits and reaching back down for the food.

Peter made his way to the couch, staying behind in case Deadpool’s mask was lifted up. “Morning, ‘Pool.”

“Spidey,” he squealed, turning around. When he saw Peter hanging from the ceiling, he gasped and bumbled over the back of the couch. “You can’t be moving around with your legs all broken!”

“I’m not a porcelain doll, ‘Pool. I’ll be fine.”

Deadpool cooed and tutted, reaching up to Peter to help him down from the ceiling.

With a sigh, Peter dropped and allowed Deadpool to carry him to the couch and sit him down. “So what’s our plan to save the rest of the people?”

It took a moment for Deadpool to answer because he was grabbing a blanket and another glass of water to give to Peter. As much as Peter appreciated the care, it was already becoming a bit stifling. He still nodded his thanks when Deadpool handed the stuff to him.

“I don’t have one yet, but we have at least a week to figure it out. Did the pants not fit? Do you want me to get you some different ones?” He moved to stand, but Peter waved him back down to the couch.

“No, I’m fine. What do you mean we have a week?”

“Unless you’ve been hiding a stronger healing factor under that mask, we have at least a week until all your boo-boos heal up.” He tapped Peter’s knee lightly.

Peter scowled. As much as he hated to admit it, it would certainly be longer than a week until he could be in good enough shape to fight. In the spots that were, were still swollen and covered in bruises of various colors. Not to mention the aching pain.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Deadpool grunted under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Fine. A week, but no more.”

“Pinky promise.” Deadpool held out a hand with his pinkie extended.

Peter shook it with his own pinkie and smiled. “Pinky promise.”

“Perfect.” A beat passed. “Yeah, what did you think I was referring to?” He hopped up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the dish he had been eating from on his way. “So do you want some cereal or something? Ooh, I also have car-shaped macaroni. That might not be the best for breakfast, though. Hmm. Well, you do have a point there.” He rifled through cabinets and stuck his head farther into the fridge than seemed necessary. Then again, Peter never had much to search through when getting food.

Deadpool emerged from the fridge and clapped his hands together. “I know! I’ll go grab us stuff from the coffee shop across the street.” He ran back over to jump on the couch.

“Across the street? You mean the --”

Deadpool pressed a finger to his mouth and shushed him. “No more product placement.”

Peter squinted. There was no one around to hear them talking, and even if people were around, it was perfectly normal to have a conversation about food. Despite Deadpool’s finger still pressed into his face, he said, “What? Are you worried the birds are going to overhear us and report back to the government?” He gestured to the window, where a fat pigeon was perched on the sill, bobbing its head lazily in the sun.

“Well, now that you mention it, yeah.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine, the place across the street, then. Can you get me a latte and a muffin?” His stomach ached for more, but he didn’t want to demand too much from the person who had already saved him and taken care of him. He could get by with not much food if he needed to. He had done it before.

“A muffin for the stud muffin. Got it. BRB, Spidey.” Standing up, he patted his hands over a few spots on his suit methodically before leaving.

Peter picked up the remote to play a match of his own while he waited. As he was finishing the match, Deadpool marched back in with his arms full of cups and bags. He piled the stuff on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch with a sigh, opening bags to search through them.

Wrapping up the game, Peter set down the remote and turned to look at the mountain of food. Deadpool picked up one of the cups, an iced drink that smelled like chocolate and cinnamon, and dumped two packets of sugar in it.

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s disgusting.”

Deadpool turned to him and tilted his head. “Are you judging me? What’s next, you’re gonna start fat-shaming me and tearing down my inspirational posters?” From the way he gestured down the hall, Peter guessed that the posters were more than hypothetical.

“If they’re cat posters, then yeah. They need to go.”

Wade made an affronted gasp and raised his hand to his chest. “Not Tigey! She reminds me I have the heart of a tiger.” He paused for a moment before waving a dismissive hand by the side of his face. “It’s too late for that, White. I already committed.”

Peter allowed himself a moment to wonder if the tiger poster was real before shaking the thought away. “Your tiger heart is not going to last with this diet.”

Deadpool nodded solemnly. “I hear what you’re saying. I need to eat like a tiger. What do tigers eat, meat? I need to go on an alzheimer’s diet. No, wait, it’s -- that’s not what it’s called.”

Peter laughed. “I think you mean Atkins, but what you’re talking about is just a straight-up carnivore diet, ‘Pool.”

“If that’s what it takes to get the heart of a tiger, it’s worth it.” He sounded resolute, but Peter was fairly certain it was a joke. He hoped, for Deadpool’s sake, that it was.

“I guess that means I get all this food to myself.” He grabbed one of the stuffed paper bags to find a muffin. There were sandwiches, muffins, fruit, and more bakery stuff all squashed in there, and that was just the first bag.

Deadpool pushed the rest of the items to Peter, except for the drink that must have been pure sugar. “If that’s what you want.” He shrugged before yelping and shooting forward to grab a bag that was larger than the rest, running with it to the kitchen. “Except for this one. Don’t look in this one.”

Peter unwrapped a muffin and ate it in two bites, barely chewing before swallowing, and grabbed another. The new weight in his stomach was a relief from how painfully empty it had been for over a full day.

The couch jostled when Deadpool returned and flopped onto it. Peter paused his eating to worry for the couches stability if this was its regular treatment.

He continued gobbling down food while Deadpool began to ramble about how he had chatted up a hot barista while waiting for their order. When the first bag was empty, he leaned forward to grab another but hissed in pain at the pressure it put on his legs.

Deadpool picked it up instead and handed it to him, tutting sympathetically before continuing his story.

Another muffin later, Peter realized that Deadpool had not eaten anything, not even taken a sip of his candy drink. If he hadn’t known better, he would have chalked it up to the food he had eaten earlier, but he did know better. For one, Deadpool seemed to be a bottomless pit when it came to food (a bit like himself), and for another, Peter remembered all too well what happened last time Spider-Man and Deadpool ate together. Guilt settled in his stomach, morphing from a pleasant fullness into a sick ache.

Peter set the muffin down and turned to face Deadpool. “I’m sorry if I upset you. When I saw your face that day, I mean.”

Deadpool ran his hands together, tugging at one of the gloves. “Nah, it’s cool. I’m used to it.”

Had lots of people seen Deadpool unmasked? He had thought, with how careful he was with his identity, that wouldn’t be a common occurrence. It didn’t make sense. Not to mention, it had led to a week of radio silence from the merc, such that Peter hadn’t even seen him doing work in the city. That certainly didn’t imply that Deadpool was ‘used to it,’ as he had claimed. 

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

Deadpool tensed, leaning forward in an unexpectedly aggressive stance. “Don’t do that,” he growled. “Don’t fucking play dumb with me, Spider-Man. It’s not fucking funny.”

Peter sorted through his thoughts, searching for understanding, but remained unable to find it. His mind kept getting stuck on ‘Spider-Man.’ Deadpool never called him that, and the sound of it made his stomach clench even worse.

“Yeah, that’s cause you’re an idiot. Of course it would.”

“What?” Peter’s thoughts spun faster, and he couldn’t get a grip on any of them. His stomach was really cramping now. As soon as he considered that maybe it wasn’t purely guilt making him feel queasy, bile began working its way up his throat. He gagged and leaned over, puking his precious food all over the floor but managing to avoid the coffee table.

A hand patted his back to soothe him before he felt footsteps leaving to go to the kitchen. He was still gagging when the footsteps returned and Deadpool kneeled down with towels to clean up Peter’s mess with a muttered ‘shut up.’

He moved efficiently, clearing the floor in a few moments before reaching for Peter’s hand. He held it out and watched with a hazy mind as Deadpool wiped off his hand with careful motions.

“I’m sorry.” Peter rubbed his other hand along his mouth to wipe it off.

Deadpool sighed and grabbed that hand to clean it, too. “It’s alright. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” He gathered the towels and walked down the hall. When he came back, Peter still felt ill but his stomach had settled a bit.

“That’s what you get for trying to hog all the food, Spidey.”

He nodded, still clutching at his stomach.

“Here you go.” Deadpool pushed a cup into his hand.

Peter swished, flushing out the vile taste from his mouth. After he finished, Deadpool took the glass to the kitchen and washed it out. Peter let the tiniest vibrations of footsteps from the other room ground him, focusing on that sensation rather than his aching stomach and frantic thoughts. Deadpool came back and grabbed his drink from the table, turning away from Peter to take a gulp.

The guilt rushed back. “I’m sorry for looking. I know it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t mean to look. It was an accident. And I can’t expect to earn your trust back -- I know that -- but I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.” By the time he stopped talking, all the air had rushed out of his lungs, and he had to take a deep breath to replenish it.

Deadpool had turned to face him, but his usually expressive mask had fallen still. “My trust.” His voice was hollow and smooth, any emotion indiscernible.

“Yeah. And it’s okay. I understand.” He hated the idea that he had destroyed any trust he had built with Deadpool, but he had to accept it. Still, he desperately hoped Deadpool would be willing to give him another chance.

“Why do you think you lost my trust? You saved me from the Iron Oompa Loompa! You even yelled at his thoroughly-sticked ass!” As if someone had popped a balloon, Deadpool’s emotions blasted out with rapid gesticulation, shouting, and wide eyes.

“Well, someone had to. He electrocuted you.” It had been the obvious course of action.

Deadpool laughed and grabbed his knees, pulling them up to his chest with a grin and a squeal. “He probably thinks it is,” he mumbled. Squishing further into the couch and pillows, he watched Peter. “Why did you run, then, gingerbread man?”

Well, that was the question. Peter had tried (and failed) to convince himself that it was just because he was running late to the museum. That wasn’t the reason, though, not really. It was cowardice and avoidance.

He scratched at his arm, avoiding the whites of Deadpool’s mask. “I panicked, really. I didn’t know what to do, so I just. . . ran.”

Deadpool hissed and swatted the air in front of him. “I’m trying to pay attention.” He turned back to Peter but seemed to hesitate before saying whatever he was thinking about. “So it wasn’t because of. . . all this?” He waved a hand over his masked face.

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Peter was such an idiot. He had just gone and assumed that Deadpool was upset that he had seen his face and had learned more of his identity. Like an absolute blundering fool, he hadn’t considered that Deadpool would have been self-conscious about his face, even though he had seen the scars and the scabs. Deadpool was always so confident about things and made braggy jokes about his good looks that the thought hadn’t even crossed Peter’s mind.

“Can you just  _ not _ today. Holy fuck, I  _ know _ .”

Peter looked up and saw that Deadpool was clutching at his head and had shrunk even further into the couch. He realized, with a start, that he had just been sitting there without answering Deadpool’s question. He shook his head frantically. “No, no. It wasn’t because. . . It -- it wasn’t that.”

“Oh. Sure, cool.” He sounded disbelieving.

Peter wrung his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s all good, babe.” Deadpool regained his chipper attitude, shuffling forward in his seat. “Does this mean we’re besties again?”

Peter grinned. “Maybe we could settle for second besties. Pancakes will always hold the first-place spot for me.”

“Well, I can’t compete with pancakes. But I do make an excellent batch if you’re up for eating again.”

He shook his head. “We already have all this stuff.” Reaching forward with a pained groan, he grabbed another bag and pulled out a sandwich. He took smaller bites than earlier, letting the food settle in his stomach.

“That we do.” Deadpool turned around to take another gulp of his drink. “Oh, I got you a few lattes. This one has almond milk, this one is a plain Jane, and this one. . . I forgot what this one is.” He paused and tilted his head. “Oh! Right, thanks. It’s a coconut and caramel latte. Which, obviously I had to get that.”

Peter grabbed the second one and took a sip. “I’ll go with the plain one, thanks. Do you want the coconut one?”

“How very boring of you. And yeah, of course I'll take the coconut one.” He gulped it down with his back turned to Peter, chugging until the whole thing was gone.

Peter continued sipping on his own, letting the caffeine wake him up for the day. “Should we start the planning, then, ‘Pool?”

“You know, since we’re second besties now, you can call me Wade. Or hot stuff; I’m not picky.”

Despite how casually he had offered the information, Peter felt a jolt of surprise at the offering. He hadn’t expected to be trusted with Deadpool’s name after his mistake the week prior. 

“Wade,” Peter echoed without thinking. As he formed the name in his mouth, he recognized it. That was the name of the guy with the hoodie who had taken him to Denny’s. They had had pancakes. “Wade?”

“Say it once more and I’ll magically appear to fuck some shit up.” He yawned and stretched, evidently unaware of just what information he had given Peter.

Deadpool was Wade. He was the one who had walked with Peter to make sure he stayed safe, and he was the one who had beat somebody up for stalking, and he was the one who had bought Peter pancakes afterward. It must have been him. Thinking back, Peter connected the dots -- his voice, the hood, the  _ pancakes _ . It all made some sort of terrifying sense.

Deadpool waved his hand in front of Peter’s face. “You’re, uh, you’re really surprised, huh? Honestly, I’d figured you’d probably searched it up already. Not like it’s some big secret.”

He had no idea that Spider-Man was Peter. He had never called Wade back, figuring he wouldn’t care to hear from Peter. He considered it now, the greedy side of him wanting to spend time with Wade as a civilian, rather than a super. Guilt trailed right along after the wish. He couldn’t take advantage of the information Deadpool was trusting him with.

“If you’re worried about telling me your name, I don’t expect you to. I know how you ‘understand secret identities,’” he said in an imitation of Peter. “As I said, my name’s not exactly a secret, so, y’know.” He shrugged. “It’s no biggie.”

“Right, no biggie. Wade.” But Peter’s mind insisted that it was a biggie. He tried to shake off that sense. It didn’t need to change anything, right? It was just a name. That was all.

“Can I bring you to the kitchen? I want to show you something. No, it’s obviously not my -- stop it. You were there.”

Peter nodded. “Sure.” He lifted his arms, deciding to put up with Deadpool’s suppressive care if it meant getting to the kitchen with less pain.

Deadpool picked him --  _ Wade _ picked him up, holding him under his knees and shoulders. Curled against his chest, Peter did his best to not make a fool of himself by snuggling into the warmth and firm muscles. He was mostly successful.

He set him down on the counter so that his legs dangled over the side comfortably. The counter was jarringly cold compared to -- earlier, and Peter shivered.

“Okay, wait here.”

“I don’t think I have much choice in the matter.” Peter rolled his eyes and swung his beat-up legs back and forth a bit, careful to avoid hitting them against anything.

Deadpool twirled back around with the bag he had moved into the kitchen earlier. He reached in and pulled out a container of cookie cutters, shaped like the Avengers.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

Deadpool giggled and squirmed. “Wait, that’s not all.” He pulled out another set that was entirely Spider-Man themed and handed that set to Peter with obvious pride.

With some hesitation, Peter examined the cutters, sure that some of the poses would turn out as no more than blobs after baking. He had seen Spider-Man merch around before, but he didn’t buy any of it. It seemed a bit narcissistic to him, but the blatant joy shining through Deadpool’s mask spilled over to Peter, and he grinned back.

“I, for one, can’t wait to bite Tin Man’s head off.” Deadpool ripped open the package and pulled out an Iron-Man-themed cutter, wiggling it as if to tempt Peter.

He snorted out a laugh. “As long as we stay far away from biting off any cookie-form body parts of Romanoff.”

Wade gave an enthusiastic nod. “Definitely. She is terrifying. You’re both spiders, but very different vibes there.”

“I’m friendly neighborhood, she’s deadly assassin.”

He snapped his fingers. “Precisely.”

While Wade gathered ingredients to make the dough, Peter tore open the Spider-Man pack and sorted through the shapes to find his favorites. Once he finished with that pack, he moved on to the Avengers.

Wade plonked a mixing bowl on the counter next to Peter and handed him a measuring cup. “Two and a fourth cups flour.”

He glanced down at the ¼ C measuring cup in his hand. “You want me to measure nine of these?”

“Yes, and hurry it up. No time to waste when baking, Spidey.”

He measured the flour out while Deadpool started up music and tied his apron around his waist, singing along to the song. He brought another apron to Peter, who put it on quickly before resuming his measurements. As he poured scoops of flour into the bowl, Deadpool tossed in something else and ran to the fridge.

Peter finally reached what he assumed to be nine scoops, but he thought he might have missed a scoop somewhere in there and had tried to guess based on eyeing the amount that was already in the bowl.

“ _Feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream,_ _the way you turn me on. I can’t sleep._ ” Wade hummed along for a moment before picking the lyrics back up. “ _My heart stops when you look at me_.” Wade turned to Peter and patted a hand against his chest in over-dramatized motions.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“ _ Just one touch. Now, baby, I believe _ .” He continued singing while he tapped an egg against the counter and plopped it into the bowl. He pushed a bag of sugar to Peter. “Three fourths a cup, boo.”

Measuring out the new amount, Peter kept an eye on Deadpool as he danced about the kitchen, moving through the space with practiced ease.

They continued working together until they had a ball of dough to shape their cookies from. Peter floured the spots on either side of him, one for himself and one for Deadpool, to work on.

After Peter had rolled out his portion and cut a few shapes, he turned to check on Wade’s work and saw that he had already cut a tray’s worth of Spider-Man shapes. Peter snorted a laugh. “You’re gonna skew the ratio, ‘Pool.”

“Only in the best of ways.” He continued pressing the Spider-Man shapes into his section of dough.

Peter rolled his eyes and reached to grab Stark from the rest of the Avengers. His hand lingered on the cutter as he scanned the shapes. 

“Hey, Wade. I think I have a plan.”

Wade hummed in approval as he looked over his work with his hands clasped together. “For your cookies?”

Peter shook his head. “No. The rescue plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> I thought we could use a cute, happy chapter now, so here you are. Enjoy the respite before we move back into the action. :D
> 
> Next chapter: Iron Man loses his head, teamwork makes the dream work, three's a crowd
> 
> With adoration,  
> Kenwick


	15. Derring-Ado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: N/A

“Ooh, the rescue plan. Do tell.” Wade leaned against the counter, accidentally squishing one of the Spidey cutouts under his elbow.

{*Gasp* How dare you, fiend?}

“They’re going to be expecting us, right?” Spidey fiddled with one of the cookie cutters, turning it over in his hands.

“That’s more of a question than a plan, but yes.”

“But if we worked with someone else, we could be the distraction while they go in and get the people out of there safely.”

“And by someone else you mean. . . ?”

Spidey fidgeted, refusing to meet Wade’s eyes. “Someone like the Avengers.”

Wade couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could Spidey of all people -- smart and powerful Spidey -- propose such an idiotic idea? “Are you kidding me? You want to team up with that bunch of grade-A-holes? No. No way, Spidey.”

Spidey slapped the cookie cutter onto the counter with a sharp ping. “I don’t want to do it either, but it’s the best option to keep people safe and make sure we get them out of there.”

[He seems frustrated.]

{I bet we could help with some of that pent-up energy.}

“So the plan is to yell out ‘Avengers assemble’ and hope their sorry asses show up?”

Spidey dragged a hand over his face. “No, the plan is to talk to Iron-Man so he can gather the team and we can all work out the details together.”

“Alumini-Man would have my hide if I brought you in looking like this.” He gestured to Spidey’s entire ensemble: one of Deadpool’s own masks, his sweater, taco-themed boxers (and no pants), and rainbow-colored legs in homemade splints. Who would Stark blame for Spidey’s condition?

[Us.]

Ding, ding, ding. Chicken dinner, we have a winner. There was no way in hell that Wade was gonna saunter up to Stark Tower with Spidey like this. Last time he had been to Stark Tower, Stark had been a huge heckin’ dick. If he went now, he was sure Stark would somehow manage to be a bigger dick than Moby.

{Fucking whale-dick prick stick.}

Wade nodded. “Definitely a fuckin’ whale-dick prick stick.”

“Fine, so I’ll call him and let him know what happened before we go to the tower. If he tries to hurt you again, he’ll have to go through me first.”

Dragging his finger through the flour on the counter to draw Stark falling into a pit of unicorn horns, Wade grinned. While Spidey getting all protective and picking a fight with that egocentric lightning rod did sound like a lovely sight to see, Wade doubted he would be able to do much with his injuries. It was still a nice thought. 

“Alright, you take care of your Iron Dad, and we’re golden as a goose.” 

[Right as rain.]

{Good as hell.}

[Hell is not good.]

{Exactly.}

“Cool.” Spidey shot a web onto the ceiling, which -- rude. Now Wade would have to clean that up. He climbed up to the ceiling and grabbed on with his hands.

“Spidey, stop doing that. You need to get your beauty rest,” Wade whined while grabbing at Spidey as the Wall-Now-Ceiling-Climber moved toward Wade’s bedroom.

He stopped and turned around to face Wade, still dangling precariously from the ceiling. His sweater had lifted to expose his damn fine hips which Wade definitely did not ogle.

[Keep telling yourself that.]

“Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

“Huh?” Wade lifted his gaze to Spidey’s eyes, which were still covered by Deadpool’s mask and was really fucking disconcerting to look at. “Oh, yeah. Yessiree. Let me just --”

He took a step back and tripped over his backpack, which jabbed something into his ankle as he fell backward and fell hard on his tailbone. “Shit fuck.” He stumbled back up only to find Spidey laughing at him. “You are such a rude houseguest. Good luck finding the phone all by your selfies.” He chuckled to himself. “Phone. Selfies.”

[That is a terrible joke.]

“Shut up. I’m hilarious.”

“I  _ will _ find all your phones and hack into them with my techy trickery.” He raised his eyebrows, challenging Wade.

Wade gasped. “Not the techy trickery.”

Spidey nodded.

“I hear ya. I’ll comply with your demands, dear Spidey.” Stepping carefully over the backpack, Wade went to grab a burner phone. “So, after you call the Iron Not-So-Giant, do you want to swing by your place to grab stuff or just make a beeline for the tower big enough that it must be compensating for something.”

“Probably for his heart.”

Wade snickered and turned to Spidey with an admonishing look. “You didn’t.”

Spidey lifted his shoulders in an awkward, hanging shrug. “We’ll have to go straight to the tower. I have a backup suit there.”

“Here you are.” Wade extended the phone to him. When Spidey grabbed it and went to Wade’s room to make the call, Wade danced back into the kitchen to get their cookies in the oven to bake. And Spidey wasn’t around to stop him from eating the dough he hadn’t used.

{Bonus!}

By the time Spidey finished his call, the smell of cookies was wafting out of the oven to fill the room. Spidey contorted himself on the ceiling to catch a glimpse in the oven.

Wade hissed and moved to make sure his legs were okay after he moved like that. 

“Seriously, ‘Pool. I’m fine.” Spidey shot him a look and swatted him away. “Stark said he’ll restrain himself. And I made him specifically promise no more electrocution.”

Wade smirked. “Not even if I ask nicely? It did give me quite a buzz.” 

“Nobody’s getting electrocuted.”

“Fine, fine.” Wade raised his hands in surrender. The oven beeped, so Wade pulled out their trays and set the cookies down to cool. Some of the shapes had baked into unidentifiable blobs, but they were mostly good.

{They’ll be even better with frosting.}

“Oh, shit. I forgot to get the frosting.”

{I will fucking kill you. I will yodel “Friday” at the top of my lungs until you frost those cookies.}

[Don’t you dare.]

Spidey lowered himself onto the counter to grab one of the cookies off the tray and took a bite. “As if you needed more sugar.”

Wade grabbed a handful of sugar from the still-open bag on the counter and threw it at Spidey. He had expected it to make a cloud, like flour, but it just fell everywhere. Some of it sprinkled over Spidey, who yelped and tried to shake it off.

{ ♪ _ Shake it off. Shake it off. _ ♪ }

“I guess you could say this makes me your sugar daddy.”

“No. No, you really could not say that.” He ran his hands over his legs to wipe off the remaining crystals.

“Fine, I’ll be my own sugar daddy.” He grabbed another handful to pour over himself.

“Stop --” Spidey grabbed his wrist. “-- pouring sugar over everything.”

Wade opened his hand, letting the sugar fall over the floor, and clapped his hands together. “You’re right. We have work to do.” 

Grabbing an Iron-Man cookie, Wade bit the head off. “Okay. First step: gear up. So do you want sweatpants? Or maybe a skirt would be easier.”

“A skirt sounds easier to get on but not as warm.”

That was a good point. Wade couldn’t have Spidey shivering on the way there, clacking his knees together and suffering with chattering teeth. No, that wouldn’t do. “I could just give you some blankets to wrap up in.”

Spidey scratched at his forehead and yawned. “Sounds good.”

Once Spidey was all wrapped up and cocooned like a caterpillar, they made their way to Stark Tower, taking a taxi instead of the metro because Wade didn’t want Spidey to have to deal with all the stares.

[Also, someone might have called the cops on us if they saw his legs.]

{I mean. . . that’s fair.}

“Well, look at you two being optimists. I think the bystander effect would prevent any cop calls.”

Spidey tilted his head to look at Wade but didn’t say anything. Wade cleared his throat and offered Spidey a thumbs up, which he returned.

The taxi pulled up to Stark Tower. Sadly, Weasel had Dopinder busy with some other shit at the moment, so Wade had to call down a random cabbie. He patted his pouches for a wallet but didn’t find anything.

[It’s in your boot, dimwit.]

Right. Wade paid and carried Spidey into the lobby where they walked straight through to the elevator, as Spidey directed. Wade grinned when he felt Spidey nuzzle his cheek into his chest. When the doors opened with a satisfying ding, they walked out into an open space that seemed to be some kind of lab set-up with couches in a corner. Wade had no idea why the couches were there. Maybe scientists liked to take cozy breaks with little sippable apple juices in between testing piss cups.

[Yeah, that sounds plausible. Who wouldn’t want to drink apple juice after working with urine?]

{Me.}

“Yeah, I second that. But scientists are weird peeps, that’s all I’m saying.”

[It was sar -- Never mind.]

Spidey nudged his arm with a frown. “I’m a scientist.”

“That’s totally adorkable, and so many amazing images are flashing through my mind right now. Like, a lab coat over the Spidey suit? Yeah, adorkable. But also you’re a weird peep.”

Before Spidey had a chance to respond, a door clicked open from the other side of the room. Tony fucking Stark sauntered out, fiddling with his watch as he walked toward Wade and Spidey. When he looked up, his eyes immediately went to Spidey and he practically growled.

Tin Man’s eyes were bulging, which, okay, Wade didn’t  _ have _ to laugh at that, but you would’ve done the same. It was damn funny. But none of that mattered to Tinny Tony who looked murderous as he shook a finger in Wade’s face. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Oh, I took  _ really _ good care of him.” Wade grinned and leaned into CapTin Foil’s face.

Spidey waved his arms frantically between the two of them. “I told you no fighting.”

Tony glanced between the two of them. “Are you two. . . What are you two?” He was practically spitting the words out, as if they were some kind of nasty barbeque-flavored chips.

[An apt description. I think some spittle landed on our shoulder.]

“We’re second besties.” Wade bounced on his toes for a moment, very proud of reaching their current status, but he stopped when Spidey hissed at the jostling motions.

Iron Glowstick turned to Spidey. “The hell does that mean?”

“It’s -- It’s a long story. Just, don’t worry about it.” Spidey waved a hand in dismissal. “And stop freaking out. God. I already told you I ran into trouble.”

“You forgot a few details, kid.”

Spidey reached up and tugged at his mask. “Could you bring me a suit?”

Rusty Tin Can sighed. “Fine.” He turned to Wade. “Set him on the couch.  _ Gently _ .”

“Eesh. Aye aye, CapTin.”

[Stop doing that.]

“Doing what?” he responded sweetly. Wade walked over to the couch and laid Spidey down before taking his own spot at the end, by Spidey’s feet. He grabbed the corner of the blanket and thumbed it absentmindedly while they waited for Mr. Blasty McBlast to return.

[Seriously. Stop. Right now.]

Spidey nudged his thigh, and when he glanced up, Spidey had pulled up his mask to smile at Wade. He grinned and winked, but Spidey yanked his mask back down right away.

When Metal Man returned, gave the suit to Spidey, and took a seat, they all sat in uncomfortable silence for many long seconds. Wade made a point of not meeting Stark’s gaze as he whistled and inspected an oh-so-interesting spot on the ceiling. Spidey was too occupied with putting on some of the pieces of his costume to care about their almost-stare-down.

Spidey broke the silence in a nasally voice. “I am very uncomfortable with the energy we’ve created in the studio today.”

Wade snorted a laugh and held back giggles as TinTin shot him an unimpressed look.

With a sigh, Spidey threw up his hands. “I guess I have to break the ice here.”

Wade perked up. “Ooh, I can help! Um, okay. We can play Never Have I ever. Does anyone have shots? Man of Not Steel? Eh?” Wade wiggled his eyebrows.

“I am not wasting my alcohol on a punk like you.”

Wade giggled. “Okay, boomer.”

Spidey dragged a hand over his face. “Did you actually just call Deadpool a punk? Oh, my God. Okay, let’s just focus on the mission, yeah? Tony, do you know who’s going to be able to help out?”

“Nat will be here in a few minutes, and Clint will be here, too, eventually. Cap is an unknown, but he’ll try his best.”

Ooh, Spidey’s fellow spider would be there. Wade looked forward to meeting her, even if it probably meant losing a limb or two. He could always just grow them back.

{Oh em gee, I can’t wait. I am gonna fan out so hard. Hard lol}

[No, stop. I am sick of your jokes.]

“Jesus, White, who spit in your pancakes this morning?”

{We didn’t get pancakes, and I feel cheated.}

Wade looked back up to find Stark and Spidey exchanging looks, like some secret language. Like morse code, except Wade couldn’t understand. Mr. Transformer noticed Wade watching them and coughed into his fist. Wade narrowed his eyes. He thought he was  _ so _ subtle --

[Actually, I think he knows you caught on.]

\-- with his smug little face, and those stupid sunglasses.

Spidey began fleshing out the details of their derring-do rescue plan for all those helpless souls whose only hope was a vigilante, a merc, and the goddamn Avengers. While he was talking, Romanoff walked in with her full getup, looking at least half as murderous as Tony, which was still pretty murderous. When she saw Spidey, her murderous levels skyrocketed, so Wade knew he was in deep shit and prepared himself for a few rough deaths.

Sliding into the seat next to Wade, she pulled out a knife to casually (and not so subtly) examine, twisting it around in the light.

{Ooh, that’s a nice knife. Show off one of ours.}

Spidey did his best to work out the plans and explain them to the group despite the tension that could be cut by Romanoff’s knife.

[Thank you for using the expression correctly.]

“Anything for you.”

Romanoff raised an eyebrow, so Wade waggled both of his at her. She perched the knife in her fingers, pointing the blade at Wade. “Does he have to be here?” She moved her gaze to Spidey.

Spidey paused his explanation to glare at Romanoff, and hoo-boy if that didn’t do something deep in Wade’s gut. He squirmed.

“Am I seriously the only responsible person here today? What the hell is happening?” Poor Spidey sounded exhausted.

“We're just establishing how well-rounded of a character you are. Goofy, dorky, _and_ responsible all smooshed together in one athletic frame. Just keep being you, boo; the readers will love it.” He gave an emphatic thumbs up.

Romanoff raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as if to say, ‘See? This dude’s an idiot who doesn’t know up from down and certainly will not be of any help in this conversation.’ And she wasn’t wrong.

[There is no way you got all of that from one look. You are extrapolating because of your internalized doubts and likely imposter syndrome.]

“I don’t need your psychoanalysis,” Wade hissed under his breath. While Spidey continued explaining the plan, Wade tried to ignore the boxes humming in his brain as they threw out comments about how he shouldn’t be there and Spidey wouldn’t put up with him anymore now that he had the Avengers to help. He grabbed at his head, pressing at it to try and push the voices away. They laughed.

“Let’s take ten. ‘Pool, can you bring me to the kitchen?”

Wade shook his head to clear it. “Sure thing, Spidey.” He hopped up to carry Spidey, but Stark cleared his throat in that ‘oh, let me stop you right there so that I can tell you how to do it because I know so much more than you’ way.

[What is with the extrapolation today?]

“I’ll get a wheelchair for you, Spider-Man. There are plenty here.” Stark rubbed his nose and did something with one of his unnecessarily-fancy pop-up screen things.

Why did he have to be such a joy-sucking leech that ruined all of Wade’s fun in life? Wade and Spidey had a perfectly fine setup before he came along with a wheelchair to mess it up.

{You’re so needy, big guy.}

[You’re one to talk.]

{lol true.}

Once the wheelchair made it up, Wade helped Spidey into it and pushed him down the hall, following his directions to navigate the tower. He certainly seemed to know the tower intimately. Wade wondered how much time he had spent there to be able to navigate it so easily.

“Were they bothering you? On the other end of your earpiece?” Spidey tapped his ear and looked up at Wade with those big, white lenses.

Wade shrugged. They were always a bother, but there wasn’t much use in saying so.

{You’re a bother.}

[I concur.]

“I don’t want to pry, but if they are bothering you, I’d be happy to tell them to leave you alone.”

{OoooOOOoH, I want to talk to Spidey! Tell him I say ‘hey.’ And that his ass is a gift to the world, and he should flaunt it with pride.}

[Don’t you dare tell him about us. He will leave us.]

{Who’s needy now?}

[Fuck off.]

{We can’t keep up the lie forever.}

[Yes, we can. And we  _ will _ .]

Wade contemplated, doing his best to ignore the tight ache in his chest. “There’s no earpiece.”

[No. Wade, stop. Stop right now.]

The lenses stared up at him, big and wide as ever. Spidey didn’t move for a moment. When he did, it was just to look forward again. “Oh.” He paused and took a breath. “I don’t think I understand. What, um, how do you talk to them?”

Following Spidey’s motion to turn right, Wade chewed on his lip. His heart felt like it was gonna pound it’s way right out of his chest and dip so that it didn’t have to be around for the conversation. “They’re just kind of. . . there? They’re like esports commentators but 24-7-365.”

[That’s not fair. We only talk some of the time.]

{Most of the time. But you would totally miss me if I wasn’t here.}

[I would love to test that hypothesis. How about you shut up for just twenty minutes to start?]

{lol You wish.}

Spidey tapped at the armrests on his wheelchair. “Oh. Cool. What are their names? Can I ask that? Sorry, you don’t have to answer.”

[Don’t you fucking dare, Wade.]

Wade nodded in greeting at a stranger they passed in the hall. “Let’s talk about this later, Spidey Babe.”

“Right, sure.” He nodded eagerly.

\---

Once Spidey picked up the water he apparently wanted from the kitchen, they walked back to the couches and took their positions again.

“Alright, so the rundown for now. Deadpool and I will go in from the front and deal with people as they come. Give us five minutes to make sure everyone is busy with us before Tony and Nat go in through this window --” He pointed to a spot on a diagram of the building. “-- while Clint waits on the roof of this building to keep an eye on things. He’ll also launch a line for people to go down to the building on. It will make the escape quicker.”

With a smile, Wade watched him explain. He was such a smart spider.

[Pay attention to the plan.]

“The small white button -- Right, ‘Pool?” He turned to Wade for confirmation, and he nodded, eager to participate and offer his help. 

The sides of Spidey’s mask stretched in a smile. “So the white button will release the prisoners in these rooms. The one thing we have left to figure out is how to make sure these are the only people they have. Tony and ‘Pool, you two can work on gathering information.”

“No way,” Tony said at the same time Wade said, “Oh,  _ hell  _ no.”

“Hey,” Spidey scolded, “work it out like big boys. We have bigger problems to deal with than your petty squabbles.”

Wade glared at Overeager Repulsors. He no longer liked Spidey’s plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am running out of names to call Stark. Halp.
> 
> Next chapter: 'Avenger's assemble,' a distraction, a confession
> 
> With gratitude,  
> Kenwick


	16. The Kat's Out of the Bag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

“Out of the way, Tiny Tim.” Deadpool glided past Peter to grab something from the guest room -- a towel apparently -- before swooping toward the bathroom.

“I will whack you with my crutches.” Peter glared at Deadpool as he passed.

He stuck his thumbs by his ears and wiggled his fingers tauntingly, like a petulant child. Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he was sticking his tongue out. With a final wave, he slid into the bathroom and slammed the door in Peter’s face.

Boiling with rage, Peter pounded on the door with a clenched fist. “I need to take a piss, you water hog.”

“Surely you can come up with a better insult. Until then, I’ll be taking a shower. Suck it, babe!” The giggling and mutterings that followed were drowned out by the running water of the shower.

Peter dropped his head against the door with a sigh. Now he had to work his way back to the couch and wait until Wade was done so he could relieve himself.

At least he could move himself around. Tony had sent him to one of his employees, who was used to working with mutants and mutates, to get casts and crutches. Since then, he had healed enough to use the crutches to wobble around Deadpool’s apartment.

He had decided to stay there for the time being because Deadpool didn’t seem to mind his company, and it was nice to have someone to grab an orange from the fridge for him whenever he asked. Not to mention the pancakes ‘Pool made. Peter hadn’t been kidding when he said pancakes held the first-place spot for him. Nothing was better than pancakes.

Those were the pros, but the cons list was turning out to be longer than Peter had hoped. And at the top of the cons list was the one bathroom. Two bedrooms, two people, and one bathroom. Sounded fine, right? Somehow it seemed whenever Peter needed the bathroom, Deadpool rushed ahead of him to use it before he could. Peter had wondered on multiplied occasions if he was doing it on purpose, just to torment him.

He collapsed onto the couch, letting the crutches fall to the ground. That was a problem for future Peter to deal with.

Rolling up his mask, he grabbed the glass of water from the end table. Another pro: Wade kept a filled glass there for whenever Peter needed it. The overall situation in the apartment was like Wade was an incontinent waiter.

At the thought, Peter smiled a bit. He gulped down a bit of the water along with some specialized, extra-strong pain meds -- another blessing from Tony.

The running water and singing stopped in the other room, and Deadpool walked out a few moments later. One of the mysteries Peter had yet to solve was how Deadpool managed to cram himself back into his tight leather suit so quickly after showering. Even just the thought made Peter wince.

Deadpool threw himself onto the couch with abandon, as was seemingly his custom, and wiggled in his spot next to Peter. “Shower’s all yours now. Couldn’t come up with a better insult?”

Peter smirked. He had been running through possibilities in the back of his mind throughout Wade’s shower. “Since you asked, there’s the classics like asshole, grinning idiot, selfish prick, douche -- which seems more than appropriate in this case -- and gluttonous dickwad.” Peter counted them on his fingers as he spoke. When he finished, he turned to find Wade positively beaming at him, his mask stretched wide in a grin.

Wade hummed and nodded. “Keep going. I love when you talk dirty to me.”

Peter rolled his eyes but continued, determined to not let his work go to waste. “Then there’s the more creative ones you inspire: stingy-ray, Poseidon’s bitch, annnd insensitive hydrophile.”

“If I inspired stingy-ray, I’m really not that inspiring. That’s terrible.” Wade tilted his head a smidge, as he did when listening to the voices, and chuckled. He still hadn’t shared any more information with Peter about them, but Peter hadn’t seen fit to ask if he wasn’t ready to share.

“Yeah, that one was not among my greatest achievements.” Peter took another sip of water, and when he brought the glass back down, Deadpool was leaning into his space with narrowed eyes, like he was studying Peter intently. Peter swallowed. “Uhh, ‘Pool? You good, man?”

“You have scruff.” His voice was light and filled with way too much wonder for such a normal observation.

Peter scratched at his chin. He tended to shave frequently (for aerodynamics, of course), but he hadn’t had the option for five days. “Yeah. I don’t have any of my stuff here, and you didn’t have extra shaving supplies. Or any at all, for that matter.”

“Well, you look great, Spidey. Totally hot. Extremely fuckable.”

Peter pointed to his crutches on the ground. “Again, I will whack you.”

“I could be into some impact play.” He then, for some stupid reason, decided to wink. At times, Deadpool was impossible.

Peter shook his head and sighed. He still needed to relieve himself, so he reached toward the ground for his crutches. They were just out of reach. Clenching his jaw, he turned to Wade. “A little help?”

“For sure. I kind of expected I would be the one bending over.” Wade hopped gleefully to his feet and snatched Peter’s crutches from the ground to hand them to him with a deep bow.

Peter yanked them out of his hands and stumbled to his feet to wobble back to the bathroom.

\---

A week later, the team gathered at Stark Tower to finalize the plan before enacting it that night. When Deadpool and Peter walked in, Nat and Clint lounged on the couch with their weapons while Tony worked on his suit’s repulsors. Nat was the only one to look up as they entered.

Deadpool tugged on his arm. “OMG, Spidey, is that Hawkeye?” He pointed to the couch and bounced on his toes while still clutching Peter’s arm.

“No, that’s the maid,” Peter deadpanned. He shrugged off the hand, and Deadpool used it to instead clap delightedly.

As Peter crossed the room to sit next to Tony, he saw Wade tiptoe dramatically toward Clint before making a grand gesture with his hands and shouting ‘boo’ to catch his attention. He then flopped to the ground, sitting with his legs sprawled out, and signed something with enthusiastic motions. Clint seemed amused as he signed back and they struck up a conversation.

Peter watched for a moment, wishing he knew more ASL than the few signs he could manage with awkward movements. He had learned things like ‘help,’ and such for interacting with civilians, but he couldn’t keep up with whatever Clint and Wade were talking about.

“You about ready, kid?” Tony set down his gauntlet and looked up at Peter.

He nodded in response. His stomach had been twisted angrily for hours as the time approached. If they messed up, he didn’t even know how many people would end up hurt or killed. The mission was crucial.

Clint laughed, startling Peter from his thoughts. He turned around to find both Clint and Wade staring at him and Wade waving his hands frantically at Clint.

“Ready to get out of those casts? How are you feeling?” Tony eyed his legs and held up a device to scan him. 

“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

“We can wait longer.”

But they couldn’t. The longer they waited, the more people suffered at the hands of Kat, someone he let trick him and use him. All of this was his fault, and he was determined to make it as right as he could. “We’re sticking with the plan.”

Tony walked him to a higher level of the tower where they cut off his casts, and he walked around the room for a while to get used to it and make sure he was able to move alright.

After Tony was satisfied, Peter put on his full Spidey suit, along with special boots Stark made for him out of a sturdier material that were intended to protect his legs during the upcoming strenuous activity. They covered his leg from toes to knee, stopping just short enough to allow his leg to bend. The range of motion was slightly awkward, but it would have to do.

They walked back to the room to find Clint still chilling on the couch while Nat and Wade sparred in a corner of the room they had emptied. Peter sat next to Clint and watched the fight, studying the movements and countermovements that passed in the blink of an eye.

“Your boyfriend’s pretty proud of you.”

Peter turned to face Clint, who was grinning, and lifted his mask above his nose. “Sorry, what?”

Clint gestured to Deadpool. With wide eyes, Peter looked at him then back to Clint, who still had that grin plastered on his face. When Peter glared, it faltered.

“I thought it was cute,” Clint said. He sounded genuine, which only added to Peter’s confusion.

“Did he tell you we’re together?”

The grin had morphed into a frown. “No, but he -- Was it supposed to be secret? I won’t tell anyone.”

Peter grabbed the bridge of his nose. He needed to have a talk with Deadpool. “No, there’s no secret. We’re not together.” 

“Ah, I see. Right.” He offered an exaggerated, conspiratorial wink before gulping down the remainder of his cup of coffee and peering into the empty cup in disappointment.

This was getting Peter nowhere. For some bizarre reason, Clint was convinced. Probably Deadpool had talked about his butt or something. He did that way too often.

“Oh, hey, Blown Fuses, you’re back! You wanna -- mmph!”

Peter turned around in time to see Nat shoving Wade to the ground and pressing his face against the floor. Wade managed to lift an arm to wave at Tony, but Nat swung a leg around to pin his arm, too.

“And five. I win.” She stood up with ease, strolling back to the couches without sparing a glance back.

Deadpool rolled over onto his back and flopped his arms out. “I blame Snarky Starky. His stupid metal suit reflected the sun into my eyes. We don’t even need the moon any more. We can just shoot Mr. Scrap Metal over there into space.” After a pause, he snickered and muttered something to himself.

Peter glanced at Tony, who was not yet suited up, before returning his gaze to Deadpool, who was moving as if to create snow angels. Somehow those two had managed to work together long enough to figure out where all people were being held in the hotel, but they hadn’t yet found if there were other locations. For now, they would have to go on what they knew and help the people they could.

\---

When night fell, the group suited up and gathered a few blocks away from the hotel. Clint went ahead to scan the area and set up his spot. As the rest of the group arrived, they split up, Peter and Wade slipping through shadowed streets toward the front of the hotel, and Nat and Tony holding back outside of the perimeter to wait.

Wade was lugging along a box, but, despite Peter’s nagging, he refused to enlighten him as to what was in it. So, Peter kept an eye on it as they moved, his mind searching for ideas and desperately avoiding the more uncomfortable ones such as explosives.

When they reached the corner of the hotel, next to the entrance, Wade turned to Peter, happily bouncing, and pulled something out of the box. It was. . . a boombox? That wasn’t part of the plan.

“What is that for?”

“You said we’re the distraction, and I give you: distraction.” He patted the top of the boombox to emphasize his point.

“Like Footloose?”

Wade bobbled his head. “Well, yeah, I guess. But with more stabby-stabby action.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of that. He narrowed his eyes. “Just no killing, okay?”

Deadpool hissed in a breath and clicked his tongue. “Can’t promise that. I’m staunchly pro-death. She’s kind of my biggest fan, you know.”

Peter closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Another conversation he needed to have with Deadpool. Later would have to suffice, though. They only had a few minutes to set up the distraction. “Tell you what, _I’ll_ be your biggest fan if you refrain from killing anybody.”

“Ooh, that is a tempting offer.” He tilted his head. “I doubt they’re all a bunch of clones of her. Yeah, exactly. I’m pretty sure he is. Stop saying ‘lol;’ you sound stupid.”

Peter tapped his arm impatiently while Deadpool continued talking to the voices. They were on a time crunch and didn’t have time for drawn-out conversations. Just as he was about to say as much, Deadpool let out a long, loud sigh. 

“Fine, we won’t unalive any of these dickschnozzlers. Even if they do deserve it.”

Peter imagined that was as far as they would get within their timeframe, so it would have to suffice for the time being. “Good. Ready?”

He nodded and bounced on his toes. “Born.”

Peter slunk around the corner and shot a web at the first guard he saw, yanking the gun out of their grasp. As they jerked around to face him, the boombox clicked behind him and thudded softly against the ground.

Deadpool ran out toward the guard as “Cherry Pie” blasted through the previously-quiet night. On the bright side, it would be helpful to sort out the group’s timing. Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea.

Deadpool grappled with the guard, throwing hits with rhythmic movements while he shrieked along to the music, seemingly intent on having his dance battle. Peter rushed forward to deal with the other guard, who was running toward the two as they fought.

It only took him a moment to web him to the ground and web his gun down next to him.

Deadpool yelped behind him, and he turned around to find a group of probably at least ten people swarming out of the hotel, all fully armed. A stream of bullets plowed through Deadpool, but he appeared unaffected as he dashed into the core of the group with swords swinging. Peter desperately hoped he remembered their no-killing deal as he dealt with his own problem: a few stragglers popping out of the building had chosen to dedicate their own fire toward Peter. He jumped and dodged, weaving his way toward them and shooting his webs out to yank away their weapons.

The music fizzled into less than background noise, drowned out by grunts, gunfire, thuds, and cries.

Peter swung through the group, knocking someone over and pinning them to the ground. He worked his way through the wake of people Deadpool left behind. The fallen people clutched at various body parts and crawled along the ground as Peter webbed them in their spots. At least no one was missing any limbs yet. He hoped it stayed that way.

The numbers thinned until Peter and Deadpool stood above everyone else who were webbed to the ground or walls. The lights from the hotel flickered over the black street, illuminating chilling streams of glistening red spilled over the impromptu battlefield.

Since the sounds of combat faded, “Jump” could be heard from the boombox, which still sat by the corner of the building, undisturbed.

Deadpool stepped into the light next to Peter and hacked out a wet cough. The stretch of his mask gave away his Cheshire-cat grin, which persisted despite his bullet-riddled costume. 

A familiar tap-tap-tapping echoed from inside the hotel, and Peter slid inside, followed closely by Deadpool. Kat marched to the center of the lobby where she stopped with her arms crossed over her chest and her head cocked. More guards filed in to line the walls. They all stood at attention, like a tiny army at Kat’s bidding.

She lifted an arm to examine her fingernails. “I imagined you’d be back. You boys with your hero-complexes are boringly predictable.”

She turned a piercing, green-eyed gaze to Deadpool. “Lovely to see you again, Deadpool.” Her tone implied this was less than true. “Though I wish it was in. . . more pleasant circumstances.”

How did Wade know Kat? Had she somehow worked her way into his life like she had Peter’s? Had they experienced the same betrayal? Did he know before this point? Questions continued rushing through Peter’s mind faster than he could catch them to process them.

With a lazy roll of her wrist, Kat continued, “Still, maybe I won’t have to kill you. There is time left yet to reach an accord.” She stalked toward them with languid steps, balancing perfectly on her heels. “Because surely you -- of all people -- understand sacrifice. You know that sometimes work gets messy. You know that someone has to be willing to do the dirty work so others don’t have to. You know all this.”

Peter heard Wade’s heavy breaths and turned to see him so tense he looked like a glass statue, ready to shatter at any moment and send out vicious shards without regard to direction.

Kat ran her eyes over him, certainly not failing to recognize the same tension Peter had. The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You understand the necessity of pain and suffering -- how it takes us where we need to go.”

Wade’s hand clenched and unclenched repeatedly, and his breaths continued heaving out of him with force.

Kat cast her glaze to Peter, tilting her chin up such that she was looking down her nose. “The spider’s not worth it.” She looked back to Wade. “Your deal with us was first, and it shall remain.”

A deal? More questions barraged Peter, all of them circling one central question: What kind of deal had Wade struck?

“If you don’t give us your intel on the spider, we will force it from him ourselves. This is your final chance.”

Intel? The spider? That was obviously him, but surely that wasn’t related to the deal she mentioned. As much as Peter wanted to believe that she was making up stories to confuse them and turn them against each other, the sharp lines of Wade’s tense posture told him there was truth in her words. Wade had made a deal with her, and he owed her information about Peter. His heart felt like it was in a vice, and his lungs failed him. His breaths came shallow and short.

“That sounds a lot like what you said last time, and guess what. My answer’s gonna be a lot like last time, too.” Wade spoke in a gruff snarl, his intimidation voice. He lightened it only a touch when he added, “I hope you find it in your heart to leave me a nice review on Yelp anyway.”

They’d had this conversation before. The only spark of hope Peter could hold on to was that Wade must have refused before if they needed to ask again, which meant he was supposedly refusing now.

She picked at a nail, not bothering to look at Peter nor Wade as she ordered, “Kill him. Keep the spider alive.”

The room spun into motion with a flurry of people scrambling to land hits on Peter and Wade, who moved so they were back to back.

“Spidey, you should get out of here. I can handle this.”

“No, stick to the plan.” He punched someone in the nose before they could grab him with one of their signature gloves.

“Ooh, ‘stick.’ I got that one.” Deadpool didn’t laugh. Instead, Peter only heard focused grunts and thuds.

Someone rushed toward Peter with a knife.

“I think it’s time to wrap things up here.” Peter caught their arm and wrapped them in webs before pushing them to the ground. He webbed another person’s arm to the wall when they raised a throwing knife. Their focus shifted to the webbing as they tugged at their arm.

The fight dragged on as person after person moved to replace the people who had already fallen or been immobilized. The sea of people seemed to have a never-ending flow that crashed against Peter, wearing him down.

He continued shooting webs, dodging hits and returning some of his own, but then the hits began to land as fatigue weighed his limbs down. Someone punched his jaw, hurling him into the floor. His head bounced with a painful crack, and spots danced in his vision as he stood back up.

As soon as he regained his footing, the person slammed her fist into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He slid back but didn’t fall. Blinking hard to focus, he caught the next fist careening toward him and used it to flip the person onto the ground and instantly web her in place.

Without even enough time for a breath, another person was grabbing at his shoulders to pull him to the ground. He launched into a flip and used his momentum to throw the attacker to the floor.

More people came, filling in any vacant spots.

He hadn’t accounted for this many people to distract, but surely it meant that they were focusing all their power on Peter and Wade, which meant the rest of the group should be successful.

A fist slammed into his eye, cracking the lens.

As long the captured people made it to safety, it was okay.

Someone kicked his side, sending him back to the ground. Before he could think about getting back up, they were on him, landing blows left and right in a flurry of attacks that Peter’s tired brain couldn’t keep up with.

He huddled in on himself, hoping the person would tire themself out long enough for him to land a counter-attack.

The person was ripped off of him by Deadpool. He lifted them into the air by the neck and stabbed a sword through their shoulder. The blade stuck out, glistening red with blood, and the stench of urine hit Peter’s nose. His stomach rolled in a wave of nausea.

Deadpool spared him a glance before returning to the storm of people, which finally had thinned to a noticeable degree. Peter struggled to his feet and ran toward another guard with a glove.

\---

The fight seemed to last for an eternity, but the end finally, finally came. Peter dropped to his knees, fighting for a solid breath. He ached everywhere, and his vision remained spotty.

Kat was nowhere in sight. She must have left at some point and gone who knows where to find more innocent people to torture for whatever sick experiment she was doing.

A hand rested on his shoulder, the thumb rubbing the back of his neck in slow, soothing motions. “C’mon, sweetums. Let’s go check on Ranger Rust Bucket and company.” Wade’s voice was soft, just a murmur by his ear. He was kneeling next to Peter.

Peter turned his head to search Wade’s face. It was impossible through the mask. He dropped his gaze. “What was she talking about? Did you really make a deal with these people? With _her_?”

The hand on his shoulder stiffened. When he spoke, his words were sluggish. “I did.” He hissed ‘shut up’ to his side before looking back at Peter with a furrowed brow.

Peter’s throat felt tight. His skin felt tight. Everything felt too tight, like the walls were closing in on him and squeezing the air out of his lungs. “Why?” he choked out.

The hand left his shoulder to run over the back of Deadpool’s head. “Money. Plus they didn’t tell me what the information was for.”

The information. Money. It was an exchange. Deadpool was a mercenary. What more could Peter expect of him? “What was the deal?” He flung out the words, needing to know. A part of him hoped Deadpool could somehow manage to redeem himself with his answer. Another more cynical part knew that wouldn’t be the case.

“They wanted to know everything there was to know. . . about -- well, about you, Spidey. That was the whole deal. But it’s over now. I’m not giving them shit.”

“How long ago?” Peter muttered his last question with a dead numbness sinking into his skin.

“Before we met.” Wade patted at his legs. “I never knew, Spidey. Once I realized. . . Fuck. I didn’t know.” He reached out again, but Peter flinched away.

He stumbled to his feet and took wavering steps toward the entrance, picking up speed as he went. Deadpool didn’t follow.

Soon enough, his legs brought him to his apartment. His, not Deadpool’s. It was quiet and bare.

He collapsed onto his bed, feeling as if someone had burst open a hole in him and scooped him out. He was aching and numb at the same time.

Everything he thought he knew the past month had been a lie.

Kat was a lie. Deadpool was a lie. They took advantage of his need for friends. They took what they needed and left him in the dust to piece himself back together.

He should have known.

He should have learned long ago that relationships weren’t to be trusted. They weren’t to be relied upon.

He had killed his first girlfriend, Gwen. His first boyfriend cheated on him and left him. So he took a break from dating. Then Kat turned out to be a monster in disguise. Time for another break probably.

He had ruined his aunt’s life and killed his uncle.

He had betrayed Harry, and now Deadpool had betrayed him.

Yes, he sorely needed a break. A break from everything and everyone.

Curling into a ball on his bed, he lay still as stone until sleep finally stole him from the miserable world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another not-so-sweet parting. Parting is such bitter sorrow in this case.
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to Serpensortia13 for the brilliant additions to the Tony Stark Name Calling Extravaganza. (Sorry, Tony.)
> 
> Next chapter: team minus one, ouch, re-enter Weasel
> 
> With care,  
> Kenwick


	17. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: self-harm, alcohol

Spidey ran away without a word, his adorable bubble butt bobbing away into the distance, probably never to be seen again. Wade crumpled to his knees and watched the space where Spidey had just been, wondering if he had done the right thing.

[You did.]

{The fuck he did! As if the pus-filled honeycomb of a face -- and body -- wasn’t enough of a cockblock, you just _had_ to rat yourself out as a big ol,’ fucked-up stalker. He won’t come within twenty feet of us again.}

[As we deserve.]

{Did you see him shaking? You’re a fucking monster, and now he knows it. You ruined everything.}

Wade slammed his hand into his head over and over while they yelled at him.

Spidey had just sat there and asked his questions in his sad little voice, and it had broken Wade’s two-sizes-too-small heart. How could he have lied to that? How could he have lied to _Spidey_?

{It would have been so fucking easy! You just say you don’t know what the shit the creepy lady’s talking about!}

Wade deserved to be torn limb from limb and have each limb thrown into a different sun for making Spidey look as horrible and hurt as he did.

[Yeah, you do.]

He never should have taken the job related to Spider-Man in the first place. It got him into this godawful mess, and now he didn’t think there was anything that could salvage it.

[You got yourself here.]

Wade slammed his fist into the tiles of the floor, only half-registering bones cracking and snapping as he punched again and again. When he finally stopped, his hand flopped loosely from his wrist and the pain finally registered in a torrent, shooting up his arm.

[Spidey’s lucky he got away when he did.]

Wade clutched at his head as he stood up and stumbled out of the building, tripping over the people left webbed to the ground. “Leave me the _fuck_ alone.”

{Said Spidey. Because you ruined _everything_ good we had. Fuck you, big guy. _Fuck you_.}

Wade blinked and looked around the street to gather his bearings. A web floated in the air, connected to a building at one end. Spidey must have swung away down the street. Stumbling away from it, Wade tore his eyes from the sight.

[We have a job to finish.]

A job. The job. Right. He needed to make sure that the rest of the team had done their part. Spidey would want to know the people were okay.

{Too bad you ran him off, then, huh? You disgust me.}

“Ditto,” Wade grunted, sprinting toward Stark Tower. He’d make sure the people were safe. For Spidey.

\---

The doors into the A-Team’s meeting room opened with a whoosh, revealing the three other members sitting their lazy asses around on the couches, as they seemed prone to do.

Spidey had -- surprise, surprise -- not gone back to the tower after scampering off like a kicked puppy to get away from Wade. He couldn’t believe Spidey left him to deal with this group by himself. Now there was no one left between Wade and Glow Boy, who looked like a goddamn cartoon with the smoke wafting out of his ears.

Wade crossed the room, waving at the Electric Sheet of Foil with a certain finger raised specially for him. “Good to see you again, Big Red. Glad you didn’t run out of batteries.” He kept his voice bright to show just how fucking glad he was. So glad.

Short-Circuit City scowled at him. “Where’s Spider-Man?”

“Fuck if I know. Probably taking a nap somewhere or eating pancakes.”

{We should get pancakes after this.}

Autonyton's fist clenched, and the breath he sucked in through his nose was grossly audible. Somebody was _pissed_. “What happened?”

Wade flopped onto an empty couch, propping his feet up on the arm. This earned him infatuated heart-eyes from Rusty Rodded-Ass.

[I think you misread his expression.]

“Holy fuck, White. It’s called sarcasm, and you of all people should recognize it.” He ran both of his hands over his face and stared up at the ceiling. It looked too much like the ceiling in the basement he had been strapped down in. He looked away.

{Wuss.}

“Deadpool.” Clint leaned forward in his seat across from Wade. “You wanna tell us what happened?” He signed as he spoke.

After a moment, Wade did the same as he said, “I bunched up Spidey’s boxers.”

Stark shot him a disgusted look while Black Widow’s head drooped forward in obvious disappointment. She wasn’t angry -- just disappointed. Wade chuckled. Meanwhile, Clint looked confused.

[I don’t think that was an explanation.]

He threw his hands up. “Okay, clarification. Spidey got all pissed at me and stormed off. I don’t know where he is now, but he probably won’t be back. At least not while I’m around. Better?”

Everyone seemed to understand that, but their expressions stayed much the same, keeping their judgy judgement eyes trained on him. Typical.

Wade burrowed into his spot and crossed his arms. After his already hellish day, he just wanted to get back to business and tie up all the inevitable loose-ends. They didn’t need to dwell on his limitlessly fucked-up nature to do business.

Stark stalked toward him. “What did you do?”

“Hey,” Clint cut in. “We don’t need to know that right now, Tony. We just need to stay on task.”

A man after Wade’s own heart.

{Have you moved on from our darling spider so soon, big guy? How could you?}

[Because it’s not like we can have more than one friend. That would be entirely ludicrous.]

Spidey wasn’t a friend anymore, though. He was gone with the wind, gone for good. So much for late nights with pancakes, and Uno, and those hecking adorable smiles. It had been a fleeting dream, and it was gone now. 

Reality had checked and decked Wade, leaving him in the present, unpleasant company.

Stark sighed and fiddled with his watch to pop up a screen full of words. Wade didn’t bother trying to read them as Stark’s eyes darted across the page and he tapped various things.

“We got everyone out safely,” Tony said. He shut down the tech and his lips quirked in a smug smile. Keeping his gaze on Wade, he said, “And we found and captured the ringleader.”

Well, wasn’t he so proud of himself? Wade scowled. “Are you gonna electrocute her, too?” He would be fully in favor of that idea, but he wanted to see Stark squirm.

[God. You’re so petty sometimes.]

{Yeah, _Spidey_ would just be happy to know the mission was a success. Remember Spidey? The guy you stomped and spat on like the monster you are.}

Wade flinched. “That’s not what happened.”

{Oh, sorry. I’ll leave out the euphemisms next time, dickbrain.}

The room dimmed, faces blurring into blobs. Wade blinked hard. Distantly, Stark’s voice echoed around and made its way to Wade’s ears as a series of indistinguishable sounds.

{You hurt Spidey, and you’re a horrible, fucked-up disaster waiting to happen. Happen again, that is.}

[Shut up, Yellow.]

{“ShUt uP yELlow.”}

[Wade. Focus. We’re in Stark Tower.]

“No shit, Sherlock. Captain Nerd Bot’s standing right there.” Wade blinked in Stark’s direction. He came into focus, sort of. Now Wade could see the disgust and rage in Ultra HD. Perfect.

Clint stood up and walked to Wade’s couch, kneeling down by Wade’s head. Was he making his move? Wade had expected it would happen eventually. He just wasn’t sure whether the move was going to be to get in his pants or to shoot an arrow through his skull.

{Eh. Probably both.}

[I think neither. We have only had, like, two conversations.]

That was all it took in Wade's world.

Clint patted a hand on his shoulder. He was much nicer than the company he kept, so that saying obviously had to be bullshit.

“You should go home for now. I’ll fill you in later,” Clint said.

That wasn’t much of a move. No arrow to the skull for Wade yet, but there was still hope. 

Shaking the thought off, Wade ran Clint’s words back over to process them. After weighing his shitty options, he concluded that going home would indeed be the less shitty option than hanging around with this bunch.

[I thought you liked Clint.]

“I do, but one grape does not a bunch make.” Wade rolled off the couch and slammed into the floor, his jaw bouncing against the tile. He groaned and rolled over to bounce back up, whack-a-mole style. “Alright, I’ll peace out.”

He held out a hand to get a high-five from Clint before strolling to the door and twirling around to face the group. “Since all the trash here is taken care of, I bid you adieu, my fellow garbage people. One last piece I have to take care of. While _I_ go do that --” Wade clapped his hands together. “-- be sure to let Spidey know you did your good deed for the day. Wouldn’t want him getting a tummy ache stressing out about all the precious people in his city.”

Spidey cared too much about too many shitbags, but it was his thing -- a defining feature. Not to mention it was undeniably cute.

[That was a nice farewell speech you made.]

“‘I’ll be back.’” Wade swung an arm as he turned to leave. “Schwarzenegger.”

[. . . And you ruined it.]

\---

When he made it to his apartment, Wade didn’t bother going past the kitchen before yanking off his mask, pulling the trigger, and slipping into the waiting arms of Death.

He woke up too soon.

Ah, well. He had shit to do, anyway.

[We do?]

Hacking out a cough and smacking together chapped, bleeding lips, he went to the living room to find his favorite blanket. Spidey’s glass sat on the side table, still full from when Wade replenished it before their mission. He had hoped Spidey would go back with him, but those hopes had since been dashed.

Shit. Wade needed a drink. A strong one.

[No, you don’t need a drink.]

{We need Spidey.}

[We _need_ to deal with our emotions in a healthy and introspective manner.]

“Yellow, that ship has sailed. And White’s idea sounds boring. My idea is the best, and we’re going with it.” He downed the glass of water, retrieved his mask from the other room, and waltzed out the door toward Sister Margaret’s.

\---

The volume inside the bar crashed around Wade’s head, drowning out his thoughts. He breathed in the blissful brain silence. 

When Weasel stepped behind the bar and saw Wade, he turned right back around and pushed his way to the back. He was probably hiding whatever Asgardian ale he had left, the bastard.

{Let’s get a fun drink with one of those fancy umbrellas.}

[In case you weren’t aware, we are in Sister Margaret’s right now.]

{I don’t see why that means no fun drinks.}

Wade didn’t bother waiting for Weasel to get back from whatever shit he was doing before stepping behind the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey and pouring the liquid down his throat as fast as he could take it. The burn didn’t fade until he cut off the steady flow to slam the bottle onto the counter and gasp in breaths.

“Stop guzzling my stock, Wade.” Weasel reached out to grab the bottle, but Wade gripped onto it and leaned into Weasel’s space, causing him to stumble a few steps back. 

Weasel kept his eyes on the bottle and kept swallowing. Many times more than normal people swallow. He was a weird dude, which was why Wade liked him. He didn’t judge Wade for all his weird shit -- only his face. And you’d have to be stupid or dead to not make fun of Wade’s face.

[Even the dead surely make fun of our face.]

Wade tipped back the bottle to pour another stream into his throat while Weasel stood there, watching him. When he stopped, he wheezed out a cough and wiped his mouth. “Your jobs were shit. Even the quickie. But the drug thing’s taken care of, so. . .” He made sarcastic jazz hands.

“And you’re, uh, you’re taking your payment in booze?” Weasel picked up a rag as greasy as his face and rubbed it over the counter, wiping up various spills with practiced motions.

“Not if the booze payment is as shitty as this stuff.” He swished the whiskey in the bottle, watching the dark liquid slosh against the sides. Even after chugging the stuff, he wasn’t buzzed.

{Stupid healing factor messing with our fun.}

Weasel nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “So stop drinking the shitty stuff. I’m not sure why you even bother, though. With your. . . anti-alcohol cancer stuff.”

Wade nodded, watching Weasel pour drinks for a couple mercs who had been sitting at the bar since he walked in. The drinks splashed over the rims of the glasses and onto the table. So much for the clean counter.

“I really just do it for the vibe.” And the slight hope that he would one day manage to down enough to feel it. He took another swig.

“Take your vibe to a booth. I have work to do.” He nudged his way into Wade’s space, so Wade sashayed to the side before hopping over the counter. Sliding into a booth, he tilted his bottle back to continue nursing (chugging) his drink.

[Set down the alcohol. We should find more work.]

“We’re celebrating, Whitey!” Wade threw his hands up, and some of the whiskey spilled out onto his suit. He cringed. Now he had to do laundry. 

[Right. Because you didn’t before.]

Deep into the wee hours of the night, Weasel popped back up, having slithered out of his shady corner behind the bar. He squirmed his way into Wade’s booth and dropped some papers on the table.

“I have an intimidation job if you’re up to it. They said you can rough ‘em up a bit, too.” He slid the papers toward Wade. “Though you might not even need to with your whole, uh, situation.” He gestured at his face. Nice.

{So nice. How about we give him a face to match since he likes it so much?}

“Be nice, Yellow, old pal. Our friends list is already deteriorating too fast for my tastes. Even my Facebook is down to, like, 12 friends, and one of them is Weasel’s grandma.”

{Ooh, White, you could be grammy friends! Send each other tele _grams_ or whatever it is old people do.}

Weasel adjusted his glasses. “Yeah, she likes your cat memes.”

“Who doesn’t?” He had even posted one of Tigey before. It had been a real hit among his 12 friends. Grandma Weasel even commented ‘LOL (Lots of love!)’

“I mean, I don’t really. They’re kind of weird,” Weasel said.

So much for not judging Wade for all his weird shit. At least Grandma Weasel didn’t.

[Maybe Grandma Weasel can be our biggest fan.]

The spot was open since Spidey had bailed. Wade couldn’t believe he had avoided unaliving a single one of those 40 motherfuckers just to appease Spidey, who he would never see again. 

It was worth it -- worth every last drop of boringly unspilled blood.

With a sigh, he leaned forward to grab the papers and shuffle through them for info. From the looks of it, it was a pretty simple job, but that was what he had said about the last one.

[If it turns out long, it’s just an expanded distraction.]

“Good point.” Wade needed a distraction right about now. He rolled the papers up and stuffed them down his pants, ignoring Weasel’s judgemental look. “I’ll take the job. I’m not just shoving your documents down my pants for shits and giggles.”

“You’ve done it before, so I -- Yeah, I wasn’t sure.” 

Wade bobbed his head in understanding. He had done it before, but unexpected paper cuts on the dick were no laughing matter, so papers in the pants were solely for business matters now.

Weasel scratched his head and stood up before sitting right back down in an awkward, unsure shuffle. “Anything else?

“Not until I’m back for the gold and glory.” Wade shot him a dazzling smile.

“You won’t be getting any gold for this. The payment details are there -- They’re on the last page.” He waved a finger at Wade’s pants.

Wade patted the papers and grinned at Weasel. “Kay kay. Guess I’ll get on it. See you later, crocodile.” Wade hopped up and exited the bar, waving at a few people on his way out. He couldn’t wait to get to work. Recent events, which shall remain unnamed, had put him in a _very_ rough-upping mood.

\---

The job ended up being as bland as expected, so distraction value was a two out of ten, at most.

The target was a snivelling pedo in a business suit he cared about more than his dog. It had been a pleasure to break some select bones of his. And quite the stress-reliever, too, so that was a bonus.

{Nothing like a nice maiming to brighten the day.}

And he hadn’t spent any of his time on the job thinking about Spidey. None. Still wasn’t.

[Mm-hmm.]

If that bucket full of good news wasn’t enough, the Avengers called him up on his way back to Weasel. They enlisted his help with the annual attempted alien takeover, which the top dogs (like the honest-to-Death owner of America’s Ass) were working on dealing with. They had always managed to stop it without him before, but it was nice to be included.

{Inclusivity is the bomb.}

The bomb was actually under the streets somewhere, but Wade, now an honorary Avenger --

[They specifically said you are not.]

\-- was working on finding it. So don’t you New Yorkians worry your butts off about any bombs. Yes, Wade was on his way to becoming a bona fide superhero, just like Spidey.

[Well. . . No.]

Sure, his moral compass was a little more finicky than Spidey’s, but he thought Spidey would be proud if he ever happened to run into the bug out on the streets. He liked to imagine that Spidey would be. Even if it was nothing but an impossibility, it was a nice impossibility that Wade wanted to hold on to.

In reality, no one had seen Spidey around for the past couple weeks. The Avengers had tried to make contact with him, but even Nickel-Titanium Alloy Man himself couldn’t bring him out of whatever cocoon he was hiding out in.

{Do spiders have cocoons?}

“Fuck if I know. But Spidey does like to cocoon in blankets when he’s upset, so I imagine that’s what he’s been up to.” Or maybe he was strolling down main street, chipper as could be. Somehow, Wade doubted it. 

The guilt clawed him apart, but he managed to hold himself together while he worked on finding that goddamn bomb that was hidden really well. He had survived being clawed apart before, and he could sure as hell do it now.

Wade just hoped Spidey was doing better than he was.

[That sounds like an excellent set up for a transition into a montage of Spidey not doing better than Wade.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block kicked my ass this week, but I fought the fight, and I'm back with another chapter for all you wonderful people.  
> I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Next chapter: back to ye ole 9 to 5, that's what friends are for, suit up
> 
> With all my love,  
> Kenwick


	18. The Return of Spider-Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: panic attack

The past month had been awfully grey for autumn.

A hollowness hung in Peter’s chest as he dragged his legs down the daunting strip of pavement toward his job. Jameson didn’t spare him a glance or a greeting when he walked in before demanding more pictures, better pictures, faster pictures, more, more, more.

Peter slapped down some of his backups that he had taken a while ago. It didn’t really matter when they were taken. He just took neutral shots in the city and let Jameson spin whatever kind of story he wanted below it. The rare shot of him in real action, fighting crime, did sell better, but it was more work to get than was usually worth.

Thankfully, Jameson had been raising his pay for any pictures recently because Spider-Man hadn’t been seen for two weeks. That meant drama for stories and a lack of pictures to buy. It was basic supply and demand, really, but every time Peter brought in pictures to sell at swollen prices, he was reminded how much he was failing the city. They wanted Spider-Man, and he couldn’t give that to them.

It was hard enough flopping out of bed in the same set of clothes day after day just to drag himself to work. By the time he got back to his apartment, all he wanted to do was sleep, and it was impossible to convince himself to swing around the city and deal with people trying to shoot at him.

The guilt of leaving the city Spider-Man-less piled onto Peter and made the task of donning the suit even more impossible.

So he threw enough pictures at Jameson to pay the bills and buy food. Beyond that, the days blurred together and passed with no meaning.

Jameson slammed his coffee onto the counter. Peter would have thought he was angrier than normal if he didn’t slam down everything he held.

“These’ll have to do for now, but your quality is really going down. We need your best work, Parker.”

“Yeah, I’ll work on it and get back to you.”

“Stop muttering. Speak up.” He took another swig of coffee before slamming it back down. “And I can’t pay full price for this crap. Three quarters of your usual pay.” He waved a hand to dismiss Peter while he studied the photos in front of him.

Peter clenched his fists. His pictures were fine, and there was no reason Jameson should be cutting costs, especially when Spider-Man front pages were selling like hotcakes. “I need full price, sir. The pictures are just as good as my normal work.” He managed to keep his tone even, but his teeth ached from how hard his jaw clenched.

“Exactly, it’s the same ‘ol, same ‘ol. We need something new, fresh -- something readers have never seen before. Get me that, and you’ll get full price.” Finally looking up, he slammed the pictures onto the desk.

“No one is getting that right now.”

“Too bad. Three-quarters price. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” he spat, turning on his heel. 

He got his pay from Jean and grabbed a newspaper before trudging back home.

\---

Yanking open his fridge, he found nothing but an inch of chunky milk left in the container. His cabinets didn’t hold anything more edible than that. 

Sinking onto his tattered couch, he sighed. He thought he had some Cup O’ Noodles left to cover the next few days. He didn’t even know how long ago it was that he ate the last one.

Pulling out his phone to order pizza, he planned to stop by the grocery store on his way to work the next day.

As he put in his order, someone knocked on the door. A shot of panic leapt through him, and he took a breath to settle down. His spidey senses were silent, so whoever it was was not a threat. It was still unusual for people to knock on his door, so he moved to open it with caution.

MJ stood in the hall with a half smile. “Hey.” She waved. “I tried to call to let you know I was on my way over, but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh.” He had put his phone on do not disturb a while ago and not bothered checking for messages or calls since.

MJ shifted on her feet and smiled wider at Peter, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her brow remained furrowed in concern.

“Oh, right. Uh, sorry. Hi. Do you want to come in?” He shifted to the side to let her move into his apartment.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you stink. And your apartment is a mess.” She looked around the room with her nose crinkled as she entered.

Peter ran a hand through his greasy, matted hair and looked down at his feet, feeling self-consciousness settle uncomfortably in his stomach. “I wasn’t expecting company or I’d have shoved everything under my bed.” He attempted a smile.

She smiled back and moved to the sink to pour a cup of water. “Well, that makes me feel so much better.” Sitting down on the couch, she sipped her water. “You wanna take a shower before we talk or just sit on the other side of the room?”

Peter laughed. “I’ll be back. I’d say make yourself at home, but. . .” He gestured at where she was settled into her spot before he went to the bathroom to shower and change.

When he walked back out, MJ had reclined on the couch and was typing something into her phone. She glanced up when he entered. “Much better.”

She swung her legs to sit up and patted the spot next to her.

Peter sat down and rubbed at his hands. 

“You weren’t answering my texts, and I heard the news that Spider-Man dropped off the edge of the Earth a few weeks ago, so I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Also, we haven’t had a chance to talk in a while, and I miss your nerd rants.”

Peter grinned and bumped his shoulder into hers. “I miss your conspiracy rants.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “So, how are you?”

He shrugged. The numbness hadn’t left, so he didn’t really feel much of anything. “I’m alright. I’ve just been tired.”

“And Spider-Man?”

He sucked in a breath. He hated that he had abandoned his city and disappointed them. “Yeah. . . I’ve been tired.”

She nodded and smiled sadly. “Okay. Is there anything you want to talk about? Have you been able to get enough to eat? We could go get ramen.”

“I actually ordered pizza just before you got here. It should be here any minute.” He glanced at the time. The pizza was later than the company had estimated.

“Cool. What kind?”

“Spinach and pineapple.”

She groaned. “What kind of pizza choice is that?”

“A good one.” Peter grinned. If MJ disapproved of his pizza choice, all the more for him.

Someone banged on the door, and Peter went to get the pizza. When he came back, MJ was already reaching to grab some. Anything that wasn’t meat or peanuts she would steal from his plate without showing any ounce of guilt or regret.

He let her grab some pieces and pulled out one of his own.

“So,” she said through a mouthful of pizza, “was there something that you wanted to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” He paused and tried sorting through the thoughts scrambled in his mind. All the names, faces, and voices of people had filled his head when asleep and awake. “Turns out Kat was just trying to get to Spider-Man. She was torturing a bunch of people, but we managed to rescue them.” He had read some of Tony’s messages, enough to know they got everyone out safely.

MJ choked on her pizza. “What the fuck?” She turned to Peter with raised eyebrows. “So I guess you broke up?”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, MJ, we broke up.”

They hadn’t officially, but Peter could deal with never seeing her again to make it official. As far as he was concerned, they were never really together in the first place. She had lied from the beginning.

“You know it’s not your fault. Neither was Grant, or Gwen, or any of them.”

“Who’s the common factor here?” He glared at his feet, wondering why he seemed destined to fail in every relationship he had.

“What about Ned and me? What about Tony? You had some bad partners. It’s normal. But it’s not your fault. I, for one, think you’re cool, and we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are.” MJ and Peter were always there for each other and had been since before he even became Spider-Man. He trusted her entirely. “And you’re really cool, too.”

“I know.” She grinned and stuffed the rest of her slice in her mouth, struggling to chew it. Once she managed to get the giant piece down, she turned in her seat and wiped her hands off on her jeans. “Are you gonna be ready for Thanksgiving or are you gonna need a hero of your own to help you out.” She pointed to herself.

“Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, it’s in a week.”

Oh. Peter had lost track of the days a while ago, and Thanksgiving had completely slipped from his mind. “Oh, God. I still need to buy the sweet potatoes. And everything, really.”

“Peter Parker, you are lucky to have me.” She stood up and stretched. “Time for a shopping trip.”

Peter held out a hand, and she grabbed it to pull him up from the couch.

\---

Once they gathered the ingredients and supplies Peter needed, they stood to wait in line behind the mobs of people.

“Did you end up beating up that mercenary you were whining to me about?” MJ asked nonchalantly.

Peter hissed at MJ and glanced around them nervously, but no one seemed to notice. They were all caught up in their shopping and navigating the sea of people.

“What? I was just wondering what happened. You were all stressed out about it.”

“No, I didn’t beat him up. We talked.” Peter pushed the cart forward a few inches as the line crawled forward.

“Ah, ‘talked.’” She winked.

“Why are you winking? We just talked.”

“You totally threatened him.” She smirked and stared forward, seeming smug about her apparent discovery.

“Only a little.”

She snorted and began piling their groceries on the conveyor belt.

Peter thought back to that day in the alley. It felt so long ago now. Deadpool had warned him about what was happening, but Peter remained at a loss as to why. Why would he tell Peter about the organization he was involved in? His best guess was some delayed sense of guilt. But he hadn’t been guilty enough or cared enough to actually be honest with Peter, only to get him roped into his problems.

Peter paid for the groceries, and they made their way back to his apartment to put them up.

MJ tossed a can of cranberries between her hands while Peter put vegetables in the fridge. “Ned is gonna be here on Tuesday, and I thought we could all go to a movie or something.”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.” He closed the fridge and brushed off his hands. It would be good to see Ned and have the three of them together again -- with a couple additions this time.

“Awesome.” She put the can in a cabinet. “Okay, I have to go write something up for work, but it was really good to see you. Let me know if you ever wanna talk, yeah?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” She walked to the door and waved goodbye with a smile. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

After she left, Peter ate the rest of the pizza and went to bed early, trying to shake the exhaustion that had sunk deep into his bones.

\---

He woke up sweaty and shivering when it was still dark. Nightmares already had drifted out of his memory, lost to sleep. The terror and twisting in his gut clung on even after the memories had vanished, and he doubted he would get more sleep that night.

His eyes drifted to his closet, where his suit was folded on the back of the top shelf. Spider-Man had abandoned the city for too long.

\---

Peter had almost forgotten the feel of swinging through the streets in the crisp Autumn air, feeling the wind rush around him as he soared and caught himself over and over.

His senses guided him to an alley a few blocks from his apartment, where he heard laughter and a shout from below. He dropped down onto the pavement and strode up to the group of teenagers circling something. He caught a glimpse of a hurt dog cowering in the middle of the circle. 

Crossing his arms, he said, “This doesn’t seem like a fair fight.”

“Holy shit, it’s Spider-Man,” someone whispered, pulling out their phone.

He webbed it away, tossing it onto the pavement with a crack. “Yep. But no paparazzi, please.”

Two people ran off, leaving the rest of the group gawking at Peter. One of them had a knife, but no one else was armed. They were just a group of teenagers who thought animal abuse was funny.

Peter disagreed.

One of the teens stepped forward. “We were just messing around, Spider-Man. S’all good here.”

“Right. You’re just trying to help this hurt dog.” He tilted his head at the teen.

He glanced behind him at the dog before turning back to Spider-Man with a grimace. “Exactly.”

“Well, in that case, I will personally escort you to an animal hospital where you can get the dog help and pay for the medical expenses. Don’t want you getting lost on your way.” Peter glowered at the group, and a few people nodded at him.

As they made their way to the hospital, the teens walked with their heads hung low and Peter carried the dog carefully to avoid causing any more damage than had already been done.

He kept an eye on all of the members of the group, but none of them tried to make a run for it, and they made it to the hospital without any complications.

Peter sat with the teens in the waiting room until the vet came back out to talk to them. When the medical bill came, the group argued in hushed voices about who would pay. One girl was pushed forward and held out her card.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of splitting the bill?”

A few other people added their own cash or cards after a drawn-out pause and glares from other members of the group. Peter watched to make sure the apparent ringleader included some cash of his own.

Once they paid, the group left, mumbling complaints on their way.

Peter stood up to leave a moment later. He was in no position to take care of a dog, and he wouldn’t have dared trust any of the teens who had kicked it around to treat it well, so he had to hope that it would be taken care of wherever it ended up.

After thanking the vet, he swung back home to take off his suit and collapse on his bed.

\---

The numbness and exhaustion still clung tightly to him when he woke up.

He rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his face while he poured a bowl of wheat cereal for breakfast.

While he was eating, a call came through on his phone, which he had finally switched off of do-not-disturb mode. Tony was calling his Peter phone, rather than his Spidey phone, which he normally called.

After a moment of hesitation, Peter clicked to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

Tony inhaled sharply on the other end. “Peter? You’re okay?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m alright. What’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’ Kid, you had us worried. No one could contact you. I’ve been calling you  _ every day _ . And now all you have to say is ‘what’s up?’” His voice was strained.

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?” He didn’t know what else to say. Tony typically called ‘cause he had something he wanted Peter to do or help with. He assumed this was another of those times.

Tony cursed and sighed. “What happened to you? Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’m  _ fine _ . I’ve just been keeping busy with work. Do you need something from me?”

“God damn it, Peter. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” He paused. “And we could really use your help.”

Of course they could. That was why Tony called him.

“Could you come to the tower? Just whenever you get the chance.”

Peter ground his palms into his eyes and yawned. “Alright, give me, like, half an hour.”

“Thanks, kid. See you soon.”

“See you.” Peter hung up and trudged to his room to change.

\---

When he made it to the tower, the receptionist directed him to Stark’s location, and he rode up the elevator to one of the highest levels. The level was a living area with bedrooms, bathrooms, a huge kitchen, couches, and the like.

Peter stepped off the elevator into the kitchen and almost turned right back around when he saw a familiar red-and-black-dressed figure staring at him with white eyes.

An overwhelming mixture of rage, hurt, and panic swelled up in him, and his skin felt suddenly too tight. He took deep breaths and pressed his back against the wall to try and steady himself. His heart thudded painfully against his chest, and his vision swam.

Why was Deadpool there? He didn’t like Tony. Finally managing to tear his eyes from Deadpool, Peter noticed that Tony, Nat, Clint, and Steve were all in the room, too, and they were all watching him with the same worried expression.

It was too much, and Peter was gulping in breaths as fast as he could, but they weren’t enough. He couldn’t breathe.

“Spider-Man?” Tony stepped forward, breaking apart from the rest of the group to walk toward Peter.

He pushed back harder into the wall, still trying to find air in the stifling room, trying to remember how respiration worked. He needed to breathe out first. Forcing himself to ignore the need to take air in, he breathed out as long as he could before gasping in another breath. And repeat. And repeat. He still felt like he was choking.

Tony turned around to the group and waved an arm back and forth in short, angry motions until Clint tugged on Deadpool’s arm and they left the room together.

Turning back to Peter, Tony rubbed at his nose and shifted on his feet. “Sorry, kid. I should have given you a head’s up, or just not had them here when you walked in. Shit. I’m sorry.”

Exhale. Inhale.

“You wanna sit down?” Tony gestured to the long couches at one end of the room.

Peter looked at them and walked with stiff motions, forcing his body to move until he was seated on the couch.

Nat sat down a couple cushions over and seemed to be studying him while he sat there and tried to make the world come into focus.

Why had he agreed to do this? He should have just stayed at home, eating cereal and editing pictures to sell to Jameson.

Tony plopped down in the seat next to him, jostling the couch. “Are you alright?”

“Terrific.” Peter gave a thumbs up.

Exhale. Inhale.

“Right.”

“Why do -- Why is he here?” Peter tapped a finger against his leg again and again.

Tony shot a glance at Nat before looking back at Peter.

Nat cleared her throat behind him, and he turned to look at her. “Deadpool’s been helping us with a problem in the city. He told us that he pissed you off, and I told Tony we should have let you know before you came here, but he never listens to me.” She looked at Tony with an expression that Peter couldn’t read, and he felt Tony move behind him.

Peter bounced his leg while he searched Nat’s face. “Why did you let him help you?” Something twinged in his gut -- betrayal or maybe anger. He didn’t have the energy to sort it out.

“In short, he knows a lot about bombs. And he was useful in that other mission.” Nat took a sip of her drink.

“What’s happening with bombs?”

Nat took another drink, longer this time, before answering. “We found one in a sewer thanks to an anonymous tip.”

Peter didn’t see why they needed a bomb expert if they already took care of a bomb.

“There was a note with the bomb, saying that another one had been planted. It had some sort of clue that we’ve been working on. Tony can get it for you if you want to take a look.” She took another, longer drink and sighed. “We don’t know who’s doing this or why. We’re working on that, too.”

Peter never understood the games some villains played. A bit of playful banter, sure, but riddles involving bombs? Did they enjoy watching heroes scramble to fix the problems they created? It was absurd.

“I’ll take a look. Is that why I’m here?” He watched his leg bounce rather than look at either of them.

“That and we could always use the extra help,” Tony said.

“I’ve already told you I’m not interested in becoming an Avenger.”

“I know, I know.” Tony held up a hand. “But we could use your help here -- as a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Whatever’s going on is happening in the city right now.”

Peter wished he could say no and leave them to deal with the problems the Avengers were used to dealing with. He needed to be there to watch out for the small scale stuff, but this was a problem in his city, and he needed to deal with it. “Okay. I’ll do what I can to help.”

Tony grinned and slapped a hand onto Peter’s shoulder, jostling him a bit. He shifted and stared at the hand. After a moment, Tony let go, still grinning widely. “Thanks, kid.”

“Is it alright if we bring them back in now?” Nat asked.

Peter took a deep breath. He didn’t want to deal with Deadpool, didn’t want to see his face, but he could be professional. His own problems didn’t matter; they had people to help. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Nat looked at Steve, who was still standing in the kitchen. From the subtle vibrations he had felt during the conversation, Peter would have guessed he was cooking something. He felt Steve leave the room and come back with two other sets of footsteps.

Turning around, Peter looked into the whites of Deadpool’s masks and tried to quiet his sick stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to learn how to spell couch lol  
> I am *this* close to having a chapter filled with coaches. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked the chapter.  
> Next chapter: tension, boom, enter villain no. 2
> 
> Adoringly yours,  
> Kenwick


	19. Place and Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

Oh, if looks could kill.

Wade wished they could as Spidey managed a terrifying glare through his mask. Shrinking into his seat, he did his best to disappear from the room.

Spidey’s attitude had changed drastically from when he had first entered looking ready to faint. Now, anger oozed out of him like lava, flowing across the floor to Wade, about to burn him at any moment.

[Maybe we should offer to let him kill us a few times.]

Spidey had not been fond of killing in the past, so Wade did not think that offer would go over well.

{But it would be different with us. We come back. He could punch away to his heart’s content with no consequences.}

“Are you two actually agreeing on something? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Spidey’s glare somehow intensified, but no one else bothered paying attention to Wade mumbling to the boxes. The Avengers had given him weird looks at first but stopped after a while, apparently accepting it as just another one of Wade’s bizarre habits.

{We do have plenty of those.}

“So you can take a look at this --” Billionaire Bot tossed a copy of the note to Spidey -- “while we keep working on figuring out who’s behind all this.”

Rust Bucket and all of them moved to go to the meeting room they had been using. When he noticed Wade hadn’t gotten up, Stark gestured to him to follow. Wade held up a finger -- No, not that one. He held up his  _ index _ finger, fuck you very much. -- in a ‘just a minute’ signal.

{A sophisticated code that not even Stark could break.}

Stark nodded in understanding and followed behind the others.

[You were saying?]

Wade shifted back and forth in his seat, trying to find a comfortable spot. In a moment of magnanimous mercy, Spidey had turned his withering stare to the paper in front of him, granting Wade sweet relief.

“Yoohoo -- Spidey.” Wade wiggled his fingers to catch his attention. “Could you spare a moment of your time to talk about our relationship status so I know what to put on Facebook?”

The withering stare was back on him, and wither he did under that stare. Never had someone been more withered than Wade in that moment. Too soon, Spidey turned back to his paper and stared intently at it.

“Fine, I’ll just leave it on ‘it’s complicated.’” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat to wait for a response. None came. “Spidey,” Wade whined, “please can we talk?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” He didn’t bother looking up from his paper.

Wade groaned and rolled off the couch onto the floor, doing his best to make puppy eyes from under a mask.

{How about you try the ‘doughy eyes,’ big guy?}

“No one could replicate those doughy eyes. They were truly one of a kind.”

Spidey slapped his paper down on the couch next to him and stood up with heaving breaths. He stalked toward Wade with clenched fists until he was standing right by his head and glaring down at him. “Shut up and leave me alone. We are here to work and to save people. If you can’t do that, then get out.” He jabbed a finger toward the door, practically stabbing the air.

Wade crawled to a sitting position and stared at Spidey’s knees to avoid the glare that made his throat tighten. He didn’t like seeing Spidey angry. At least not at him. Other people? Well, that was --

[Wade. Focus, please.]

{Whitey’s politey today.}

[Piss off. I’m always polite.]

{Uh-huh.}

Nodding, Wade stood up to go to the meeting room with the Avengers. It was clear that Spidey did not want him around.

{Nooo. Let’s taco bout it.}

“That’s nacho decision,” Wade murmured, walking to the meeting room.

\---

While Aluminiman talked, Wade twirled around in his spinny chair and paid half of his attention, but his full attention was too expensive for even Mr. Moneybags himself to afford. 

Stark went through slides about possible locations they had talked about and what they should be prepared for when the time came to disarm the explosives and deal with the exploser.

{I still think we should explose the exploser.}

[‘Explode the exploder.’]

{See? White agrees. That’s two votes.}

[I do not agree.]

{No take backs.}

Wade was a third vote in favor of blowing the shitbag up, but Platinum-Plated Playboy was full of his own boring ideas, and the group nodded along like a bunch of drones.

Clint nudged Wade, startling him out of his thoughts. Grinning, Clint signed to watch him. He held his hands up high and gestured with his head toward the front of the room. A shadow bunny bounced along the screen over Stark’s map and paused to turn into a bird.

When Tin Man stopped talking to turn around and squint at Clint, Wade had to stifle his laughter behind his hands. Clint laughed freely and made a giant thumbs up on the screen.

“We don’t have time for puppet shows, Clint.” Stark clicked a button, and the slide behind him changed to an aerial shot of a street with the layout of the sewer layered over it in blue.

The spot was a sewer hub of sorts, with paths twisting out from one point under a fitness center. It did match the bit in the note about ‘webbed sewers’ with the tunnels twisting and radiating out from one point. 

Wade felt painfully impressed by Chrome McDonald’s finding the spot. Still, progress was progress. And this spot looked far more promising than the previous ones they had tried.

“Deadpool, Widow, you wanna take this one?”

“Hells yeah.” Wade hopped to his feet and threw his hands up in the gymnast victory pose.

[It’s a salute, not a victory pose.]

“Fucking know-it-all.” He clapped his hands together and grinned at Nat, who was too busy reading her notes to notice.

She stood up and walked out, nose still buried in papers.

Wade waved at the group and blew them kisses as he backed out of the room and toward adventure. He was just happy to be out doing something instead of sitting around, holed-up with this bunch. 

“Take Spider-Man with you, too. Show him the ropes and all.”

Spidey tagging along? Wade bounced on his toes, feeling like he was floating on air. “Add a few more hells to that yeah.”

He moonwalked back through the kitchen and to the living room until his knees hit the arm of the couch, and he let himself topple backward onto the cushions that were surprisingly lacking in plush for how expensive they were. He grunted on impact.

Did Jetpack Man enjoy feeling like he was sitting on something from the stone age?

{Probably, since he’s from the stone age.}

“Nostalgia. Makes sense.” Wade tilted his head back and saw Spidey on another couch, scribbling away at his copy of the note. “Hey, Webs, care to join me on an adventure? For old times’ sake. Also, Sir Bots-a-Lot is sending you.”

“Where?”

“To check a place for the bomb. Flying Foil put both you spiders on it, so you know it’s gonna be a good mission.”

Romanoff watched them from the wall with her casually intense gaze. Wade waggled his fingers at her to say hello. She gave a brief wave back.

“Fine. Give me just a sec.” Spidey looked back down at his note and resumed his rapid scribbles.

“Sure thing, hot-crossed buns.” Wade rolled back over the arm of the couch and slid into the kitchen. Leaning over Cap’s shoulder, he looked in the pot on the stove that he was stirring. “Whatcha got cookin’, good lookin’?”

{ ♪ _ How’s about cookin’ somethin’ up with meee? _ ♪}

Cap tossed in a handful of chives and stirred some more. “Vegetable soup. It’s Bucky’s favorite recipe.”

Wade wafted as professionally as one can waft (which is to say with the utmost profession and grace) and caught a whiff of spices and tomato. He should cook something up with Cap sometime, because damn. He couldn’t wait to chug that simmering soup.

{I’d regrow a throat just to get that soup down.}

[Just blow on the soup.]

{Blow yourself, wiseass.}

Spidey joined them in the kitchen and glanced into the pot. “That looks great.” 

Cap smiled. “Thanks.”

Without bothering to look at or even acknowledge Wade, Spidey walked to the elevator and pressed the button. It opened with a ding. 

This silent treatment of Spidey’s stung like a lemon juice waterfall gushing over dozens of papercuts on Wade’s dick. 

Wade trudged into the elevator and pushed himself into a corner with crossed arms, trying to soothe his metaphorical, damaged dick. It was hard to do while Spidey just kept staring at the door with narrowed eyes and a perpetual frown.

[I feel like we should have gone with a heart metaphor instead.]

Romanoff joined them in the elevator with a sigh, and they swooshed down to the floor level together in silence as awkward as it can be.

\---

Wade and Spidey walked along behind Romanoff as she guided them down the street toward the potential bomb location. Spidey kept changing the pace he walked at, but Wade changed with him so they continued walking side by side.

The silent treatment was getting  _ really _ silent, so Wade pulled out his phone to jam to some tunes as they walked. Bright, twinkling music broke the insufferable silence as Annie Lennox blasted out as loud as Wade’s phone speakers could manage. He skipped and bounced along, moving his arms in elegant motions. “ _ Walking on, walking on broken glass _ .”

Spidey finally looked at him, and his lenses returned to their normal size for just a moment.

Wade skipped in front of him and twirled to face him, walking backwards to not slow down the group’s progress. He held his hands out to Spidey, who spared them a glance before looking back at Wade’s face.

Wade felt lighter when Spidey finally met his eyes. “ _ You were the sweetest thing that I ever knew, but I don’t care for sugar, honey, if I can’t have you.” _

The squint was back.

“And you know how much I like sugar, honey.” Wade winked and tapped his feet to the music while he moved back. “ _Since you abandoned me, my whole life has crashed._ ” Wade held a hand to his head and tilted his chin up woefully. “ _Won’t you pick the pieces up? ‘Cause it feels just like I’m walking on broken glass_.”

Spidey grabbed Wade’s arm with a hiss. “Turn around. You’re gonna get yourself hurt.” He nudged Wade away from a lamppost right behind him, and stormed past him to keep going behind Romanoff.

{He cares about us!}

[He cares about everyone. We’re not special.]

Wade continued singing along to the song as he bounced down the sidewalk behind Spidey, now facing forward, per his spider’s request.

Romanoff turned onto a street, and they trailed after her. Wade sped up on the turn to walk alongside Spidey again. “ _ Save me from the glass _ .” 

Wade’s foot jammed into something, and his momentum carried him forward, forward toward the unyielding concrete. Fucking Newton and his stupid laws. Before he hit the ground, Spidey caught him in his careful grip. Words fled Wade’s mind as he realized Spidey had actually fucking caught him! Spidey was holding him!

[Calm down, Wade. Be sensible.]

{No room for good sense when Spidey’s holding us!}

With a harsh tug, Spidey pulled him back up to standing. Wade could have sworn that his grip lingered for a moment before he stomped away to continue the route.

[You’re imagining things. He caught you purely from instincts -- nothing more.]

“If that’s true, that’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever imagined.” Wade stumbled after his team, and they made their way down a few more streets and through a few more turns.

The song finished, and after a brief pause, the bright notes started again. Wade resumed his fancy footwork.

“Do you have it on repeat?”

Wade looked up at Spidey and grinned when he saw those white lenses looking back at him. “Apparently.”

After a pause, Spidey just turned back around without a word.

Wade continued humming along while they finished their trip to scrambled sewer central. Romanoff led them to the entrance of the storm drain, sloshing through a shallow layer of water.

She tossed Spidey a flashlight, then another one to Wade, who caught it and shone it into his face to test the light. Yep, it was a bright one.

[You’re a fucking idiot.]

“Thanks, babe. You, too.” Wade peered into the dark passage, aiming his light into it. It smelled like rotten eggs and looked like a perfect set for a horror film. The basement still had the better vibe overall, though.

He hunched over and shuffled into the tunnel, trying to ignore the frigid water seeping into his boots.

Water splashed behind him, supposedly from Spidey and Romanoff trekking behind him.

“Why did I go in first? I don’t know where the hell I’m going.” Wade shone his light on all sides of the sewer, but there was only one way forward so far. Or backward, but that was for later.

“It’s not that difficult,” Romanoff said.

Something solid brushed past Wade’s leg, and his skin crawled.

{Just keep going forward.}

By the time the tunnel split, Wade ached from holding his hunched position for so long.

“Left here.”

Wade turned into the left tunnel and pulled out a crayon to fidget with. He drew on the crayon wrapper with the crayon (using his teeth because the flashlight was hogging one of his hands).

It was a masterpiece, as usual.

“Turn right. We should be coming up on it now.”

Wade sure hoped she knew the way back, too, because this was turning out to be quite the convoluted route.

[We literally made two turns.]

{Yeah. Convolution galore.}

The light from Wade’s flashlight seemed to just be sucked into infinite darkness, as if the tunnels never ended. As the chilling thought sunk its way into Wade’s skin, the tunnel opened into a rounded chamber at least ten feet high. Wade stretched his shoulders back, enjoying the pops of joints and stretch of muscles.

He ran his flashlight around the room as the other two walked in. “What the shit is this place?”

Romanoff walked to the other side of the chamber, where another tunnel stretched into more, seemingly infinite darkness. She looked down it with her light. “It’s the hub from the map Tony showed us. There’s a number of tunnels that branch out from here and connect to other tunnels.”

“This does not seem like a typical sewer system, but just employ your willing suspension of disbelief. It makes it more fun, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m having a grand time.” Spidey walked past Wade to look down the tunnel with Romanoff. “Does Tony think it’s down here?”

“We don’t know where it is, but I think it’d more likely be somewhere in this hub.”

“Should we split up? That’s a classic.” Wade joined them in peering down the tunnel, though he didn’t know why they were doing it.

{They peer pressured you. lol.}

[Stop. Fucking. Saying. lol.]

{Fine. lmao}

“Let’s just look here for now. Together.” Romanoff turned around and scanned various tunnel entrances with her flashlight.

After they searched the chamber, they combed various branches but found nothing.

Wade groaned and sloshed back into the chamber for the fuckteenth time. “You’d think somebody so intent on starting games with us would plant the bomb in a place where we could actually fucking  _ play _ .”

“There’s no sign of it here -- not even traces of someone besides us having been here. I think the spot is another dud.” Romanoff trudged to the tunnel they came from. “Let’s head back.”

[Please. Let’s.]

“What if it’s still here, and we just haven’t found it yet?” Spidey shifted back and forth, from leg to leg. He glanced at the mess of tunnels winding underground in a labyrinth as if he, for some unknowable reason, wanted to spend more time down there. “We might not have much more time to find it before. . . you know.”

“Ka-boom.” Wade mimed an explosion.

Spidey nodded.

“You’re right.” Romanoff leaned against the wall and rubbed at her temple. “We don’t have much time, which is why we need to look into other areas and not spend all our time here. Nothing indicates the bomb is really here. We need to move on and cover more ground.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re prob--” Spidey froze, and it looked like every muscle in his body tensed at once. He muttered something to himself.

“Webs? You okay, babe?”

He shook himself a bit. “Yeah, sorry. Let’s get out of here.”

[I don’t think he’s okay.]

Wade kept an eye on him as they made their way back into the tunnel.

They traced their steps back through the sewers in relative silence. Wade hummed a few songs and chatted with the boxes, and the group’s feet sloshed through the water, creating echoing splashes. Apart from that, the group was silent and left with a tension that had not been present on their way in.

When they emerged into the sunlit world, Wade blinked through the pain in his eyes as they adjusted. Romanoff rubbed at her eyes, but Spidey didn’t seem bothered. 

{Weird little spider.}

Wade stretched and rolled his shoulders, wondering if it would have been less painful to just have lopped off some of his legs to fit into the tunnel. “Talk about anti-climactic. The storyline really seemed to be leading to us finding something.”

{Plot twist!}

[Eh. Not really.]

“Yeah, I thought Tony was onto something there.” Romanoff moved down the street toward Stark Tower, focused as ever. Spidey and Wade followed once again.

The whole time since Spidey acted all weird in the chamber, he had remained stiff beyond belief. He needed to take a bigass chill pill or drink some tea or something. It was unnerving to see him like this when he usually moved all smooth-like, with beauty and grace.

{I bet he’s upset that we’re still here. Maybe he hoped we would get lost in the tunnels and leave him alone.}

“I seriously wanna Rickroll you right now.” Wade shoved his flashlight in a pouch and pulled out more crayons to color on a wrapper. After a minute, he was satisfied and handed it to Spidey. It was Spidey climbing Stark Tower with Wade on his back, and a speech bubble above Wade said, ‘You’re my hero!’

Wade thought it was pretty damn cute.

Spidey looked at it for a long moment before forcing out a ‘thanks’ and folding it up to put in a pocket Wade hadn’t even known existed.

But he didn’t look any happier, not even an ounce.

[I still think we should offer to let him kill us.]

{We could buy him a Happy Meal. It’s in the name.}

As they turned the last corner, the world seemed to burst open as the sound of an explosion tore through the peaceful day. Wade whirled around and saw billowing smoke and yellow flames licking up the side of a building. 

“Holy shitballs!”

[I think we found the bomb.]

Several people screamed, and even more ran past Wade to get away from the explosion. But, like the heroes they were, both the spiders ran toward the deadly fire.

Wade sighed and followed after. “S’not like I can die anyway.” He unsheathed his katanas, just in case he needed them.

{At the very least, they add to our badass style.}

Spidey webbed his way up the building to help the screaming civilians in the upper levels, and Widow ran toward the piles of rubble surrounding a gaping hole in the ground.

After a moment of deliberation, Wade followed Widow to help rescue people from the wreckage. There was a kid sitting by the pit and wailing, so Wade knelt next to them and tried to shush them.

[Put the katanas away, you goddamn idiot.]

He sheathed the katanas and held out his hands to the kid. They didn’t move except to heave more wails out of their little chest.

To grab the kid or not to grab the kid. Hell, of course grab the kid. He picked them up and ran with them outside the danger zone. 

{ ♪ _ Highway to the danger zone _ . ♪ }

When he set them down, they were still wailing to the sky. Wade patted their head and ran back. No time to comfort children when more of them were in danger. Spidey was carrying a few people down the building when he made it back, but he ran back to the pit.

“Deadpool! Over here!” Romanoff waved at him from one of the piles of rubble.

He raced to her and found her trying to shove a chunk of asphalt off of someone’s arm. Grabbing under the chunk, he heaved up with Romanoff long enough for the person to scramble out and run off.

As he scanned the area for more people to help, someone caught his eye. She was standing a short distance from the main ruckus and watching on with a hint of a pleased smile stretched across her face.

[Pyromaniac or bomber?]

“Could be both.” Wade watched her as he ran in her direction, hoping she wouldn’t start a chase. Call him lazy, but he preferred easy catches while he had other important shit to do.

He slid behind her before she seemed to notice he had found her. “Hiya, smiley. Not interested in following the rest of these lovely folks outta here?” He jabbed his thumb toward the group running away from danger rather than watching it.

She turned around slowly and scanned Wade with her eyes, still holding a soft smile. “You’re not the one. Almost, but not quite.” She turned back, resuming her earlier position.

{Um. What?}

Wade tapped her shoulder. “If you’re trying to find ‘the one’ here, I doubt that’s gonna happen. Maybe try Tinder.”

“He’ll be here.”

“He probably shouldn’t. C’mon, let’s get out of here, get somewhere safe.”

She lunged at Wade and fucking  _ bit _ him, tearing into his arm.

Wade yelped. “What the shit is happening today?” He shook his arm, trying to release her grip. 

She pulled back, taking a chunk of his arm with her. Spitting it onto the ground, she bared her teeth, now dripping red. “This doesn’t involve you.”

“You just fucking bit my arm off. I’d say I’m very involved.” He pulled out a katana again as she lurched forward.

{No killing! Spidey already hates us.}

He stepped to the side and wrapped an arm around her throat, holding back from crushing her windpipe and being done with it. She punched and kicked against him, but he held on.

Looking toward the rubble, he found Spidey racing through the pit area now. He must have finished with the burning building. Wade lifted Smiley up enough that she couldn’t touch the ground and walked to Romanoff and Spidey as their scramble slowed.

Spidey finally stopped, and leaned over to gulp in heaving breaths. Romanoff ran up to him. “That’s everyone. The fire department can finish up the rest.”

Wade glanced at the building, where the fire had simmered into a few spare patches of flames.

Smiley writhed in his grip and held her arms out to Spidey. “Oh, you’re here. Oh, perfect. Here one day, gone the next. But stay today, or they’ll be next.” She wagged a finger in the direction of the crowd running away.

Spidey straightened and looked at Smiley. “What?”

“You got the messages. Now  _ answer. _ ” She pushed forward but stopped when it put pressure on her throat.

Romanoff handed something to Spidey -- a paper. He opened it. “Is this a threat? And why are you planting bombs in the city?”

She didn’t respond.

“Let’s bring her back for now.” Romanoff waved a hand and strode toward Stark Tower. Wade followed after with Smiley in tow.

\---

Romanoff plopped down on the couch next to Wade, who was scooping spoonfuls of soup into his mouth as fast as he could.

[It’s not a race, Wade. No one is going to take the soup.]

{Romanoff might. It’s a damn good soup.}

“So what’d we find out?” Soup spilled out of Wade’s mouth and dripped over his suit.

“She said her name is the Beaver, and from what we can tell, she is the one who’s been planting the bombs and the clues. She keeps saying that Spider-Man needs to answer but won’t tell us what that means. If he has any idea, he hasn’t told us.”

Wade snorted a laugh. “Her name is the Beaver? What kind of shitty supervillain name is that?”

“Not really the point here.”

“Right, sorry.” Wade took a breath and blew it out. “Okay, but, like, why the hell did she choose ‘the Beaver?’”

[Focus, Wade.]

{No, this is a good question.}

“She can bite through pretty much anything, it turns out. She bit through multiple handcuffs and walls already, but we have her restrained now.”

“Like Sunny Baudelaire?”

Romanoff rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t know who that is. Or what.”

{I mean, that does sound like Sunny. Not a bad power.}

[Bad for us. Need I remind you we lost an arm?]

“Don’t be so melodramatic. 10% of an arm would be generous.” He shoveled more soup into his mouth.

Romanoff stood up and looked down at Wade with a look that said she was Over It. “I’m gonna get back to work. Have fun with your soup.”

“Thanks. Already on it.” More soup dribbled out.

[Is cleanliness too much to ask? Basic manners?]

Basic manners were for people who had an image to maintain. Wade downed the rest of the soup and hopped up to find Spidey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, again!  
> Things are heating up now. More pieces to the puzzle left to fill in.  
> But I’m all worded out today. It’s enough words.
> 
> Next chapter: tune in to Spidey Radio, canon goes boom, catch
> 
> Humbly yours,  
> Kenwick


	20. Doom's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

Deadpool bounded into the room with his usual overwhelming energy and flopped onto a chair next to Peter. He had hoped it would have taken Deadpool longer to find the room so he could get some work done with the clue and try to calm down enough to figure out what was happening.

The whole situation was too much, with this villain who was playing games and Deadpool just appearing everywhere Peter was. He needed to clear his head.

_S t o p h i d i n g._

Peter felt sick. The message kept returning, wriggling its way into his head and sending chills down his spine. It tugged at his spidey senses. He tried desperately to not think about how familiar it felt.

He didn’t know what to do about it. The longer it went on, the more sure he was that it was his fault all of this was happening. It was his fault the Avengers were having to deal with bomb threats. They didn’t deserve to have to deal with any more of Peter’s problems for him.

He had to deal with this himself.

“What’s got you looking so glum, sugar plum?” Deadpool whirled back and forth in his chair while watching Peter.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“You wanna think over food? I was thinking of getting falafel. Or chimichangas. You know how much I love chimichangas.” His mask stretched wide in a grin.

Peter grinned in spite of himself before regaining control over his traitorous mouth. Deadpool kept managing to use his infuriating charms on Peter to make him forget what he had done. Peter could manage being coworkers again, but he wouldn’t open himself up to the hurt again. He had learned his lesson.

“Sorry, not hungry right now. I’m sure you’ll eat enough for the two of us, anyway.”

“Are you fat-shaming me again, Spidey? I will eat enough for the two of us and a hibernating bear just to spite you.”

He smiled. “Sounds more like you’re spiting yourself here.” Dammit, Parker. Stop talking. It was too easy to fall back into old, quipping habits, but things were not the same anymore. He needed to remember that.

_S t o p h i d i n g._

“I’m just collateral damage. You will be spited once I’m done.” Deadpool shook a fist and giggled on his way out.

Peter dutifully ignored his churning stomach to look over the note for what felt like the millionth time. He didn’t want to miss anything.

Hickory dickory dock

The Spider runs up the clock

The clock goes boom

And the spider, too

Hickory dickory dock

He couldn’t tell what the message was telling him. A threat, certainly, but was it a warning to stay away or a call to a trap? Maybe the Beaver would have answers, or at least more clues. He just had to play the game.

\---

She smiled at him when he walked in. “Hello, Spider-Man.”

“Hey.” He sat down in front of the glass barrier between them. “Based on your clock message, I’m guessing we don’t have much time for niceties. So what do you want from me?”

“He’s already sent you the messages. You know what we want.”

Ice ran through his veins. “ _You_ sent the messages. We got your notes.”

They had caught the villain. The Beaver was here in front of him, trapped in a cell. It was just paranoia seeping into his exhausted, addled mind.

_S t o p h i d i n g._

The words tugged at his skin, pulling him to the source.

He screwed his eyes shut. It was all games. He could do this.

“You know what messages I’m talking about. We drew out the spider. Now the spider goes. _Alone._ ”

“You could at least make your traps less obvious, Ackbar. I’m not just gonna hand myself over to you.”

Her smile shifted into a frown. “Play by the rules, spider. You don’t want more people getting hurt.”

People were getting hurt because of him. People were going to _keep_ getting hurt because of him unless he did something about it.

“The spider sacrifices to save civilians. You know what you need to do. You have the messages.”

She was beginning to sound like a broken record. Yeah, yeah, Peter had gotten the messages. None of it was clear, though. Everything had a fuzziness that added to the dread sitting heavily in his gut.

“Spidey! What are you doing down here?” The cheery voice stunned Peter. His senses hadn’t alerted him to Deadpool walking up behind him.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You could, but you didn’t.” He plopped down next to Peter and held out a taco.

Peter begrudgingly accepted it and lifted his mask to eat.

“So? Whatcha doin’?” Deadpool leaned over to bump shoulders.

“Eating a taco, trying to figure out how to stop someone from blowing up the world. . . You know, the usual.”

He nodded. “All good things. But have you considered: giving that plump brain of yours some much-needed rest?”

“There’s no time for rest.” Peter tore off another bite of taco and chewed harshly.

“Because sitting here half-asleep with a headache trying to force your brain to function is saving us so much time.”

He glowered. “I am not half asleep.”

Deadpool’s eyebrows rose. “Full asleep? I didn’t know you’re a sleep-talker, Spidey.”

“Yep, I’m deep in a nightmare right now.”

“I’m hoping you’re talking about Sunny over there and not me.” Deadpool tilted his head toward the Beaver.

“It’s a coin toss.” Peter grinned and took another bite of the taco. It tasted like the tacos from Tía’s, and he wondered if Deadpool had gone there for him.

Another bite, and the taco was gone. He felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him. Huh. Maybe Deadpool had a point.

He rubbed at his eyes, but the lenses blocked the motion. “I guess I’ll head home for a bit.”

“Okey doke. Bye, Sunny!” He waved goodbye to the Beaver with a wide grin. “But, Stark does have beds here if you wanna stay nearby. Don’t want you stressed about missing out on all the fun.”

They walked into the elevator, and Peter pressed the button to go up. He had stayed in Stark Tower before -- for various experiments and suit modifications -- but never with so many people around. It was unnerving, like his identity could be exposed at any moment if he let his guard down.

But he also didn’t want to swing home and back -- both because it took time if there was an emergency, and he just wanted to crawl into bed as soon as he could.

“I don’t think so. How come you say any of my thoughts are just wishful thinking and then come out with this shit?”

Peter watched Deadpool gesticulate wildly and scrunch his face up. It released stupid, irrational butterflies in his stomach. No. He wouldn’t let himself make the same mistake again. He looked away.

_S t o p h i d i n g._

The tension flooded back into his body. He hadn’t even noticed it had ever left. Pressing a hand against the wall, he tried to ground himself and ignore the nerve-wracking tug.

Deadpool was suddenly in front of him, too close. Peter pressed back into the wall.

“Spidey? You okay?” He took a step back and held his hands out in front of him with his palms facing out. “Shut up,” he hissed to his side.

“Fine, fine.” Peter forced his shoulders to relax and his fists to unclench. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. “I, uh, I think I know where we should go -- where the bomb is.”

Well. That decision was made. Way to rope everyone into your problems, Parker.

\---

Tony’s mask slid into place as he marched to the rest of the group. “Alright. Let’s do this. Whenever you’re ready, webhead.”

Peter nodded and shot a web to swing down the street, hearing the footsteps of the group as they followed.

He allowed his senses to guide him to the source of the signal. It amplified as they moved across the city. When they came to a stop in front of a clock store, he knew they were in the right place.

He hoped he had made the right decision by bringing the team.

They burst into the shop, breaking the lock on the door. As they filed in, Peter felt the signal fizzle out. That didn’t seem like a good sign.

Deadpool shouted from the back of the store and pointed behind the checkout counter. He hopped over (rather than going around like a normal person) and crouched out of view.

Peter ran to the back room to see if the person who planted it was still there. He was nowhere to be found, and the signal remained silent. Peter wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried.

“Got it!” Deadpool shouted from the other room.

Peering back into the room, Peter saw that he was holding the bomb in one hand and giving a thumbs up with the other. Something clicked and Peter's senses screamed at him. He lunged at Wade and knocked him to the ground, batting the bomb out of his grip.

Not a moment later, something green burst out of the bomb and splattered the area behind the counter. Peter had knocked it far enough away from them that none of the stuff landed on them, but everywhere it did land shriveled and turned black.

“Disarming the bomb made it a bomb? That’s a neat trick.” Wade sounded way too casual for someone who was almost hit with said bomb. A hand patted Peter’s back. “Thanks for saving me, sweetums.”

Peter cleared his throat and stood up, offering a hand to Wade -- to Deadpool. “No worries.”

Deadpool bounced back to the front of the room with the rest of the group and grabbed a Hello Kitty clock, which he shook and held to his ear.

Romanoff pushed aside a line of clocks on a shelf and checked behind them. “We should make sure there’s nothing else here.” 

The search yielded no more explosives, only dozens of clocks ticking in unison, creating a foreboding atmosphere, as if time was counting down, leading to something.

Romanoff called off the search after the room was torn to shreds and every spot searched.

Deadpool handed the expected note to Peter.

As his stomach twisted itself into a knot, Peter read the note: Prepare yourselves for Doom’s Day.

It didn’t match the other notes. This felt like more of a warning than a clue. The games were over, crushed by the weight of the real world and its very real consequences. Worst of all, he knew what the note meant. It told him in no uncertain terms exactly what he had been avoiding thinking about: all of this was his fault.

He met Wade’s eyes, which were scrunched up in what looked like concern. That worried him even more than the note had. Deadpool always had a joke to crack at a time like this. Peter wanted the joke.

The rest of the group grew just as solemn as the note was passed around.

“I know what we’re all thinking,” Wade said gravely before pausing and sucking in a deep breath. “The quality of these notes is going downhill fast. They don’t even know how to spell anymore.”

Peter laughed louder than that deserved, whether from relief or surprise he didn’t really know. Although lighter now, the gravity of the situation still weighed on him. He got a handle on his laughter but his hands kept shaking. “That’s not a mistake.”

“You solved this one already? No fair. You already had your turn.” Wade crossed his arms.

“Yeah, well, turns out this is all sort of. . . my problem. I’m sorry for roping all of you into it, but I’m really the target here.” Peter looked at the floor, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. He should have gone with his gut and done this alone. He knew what was going on before he wanted to admit it (even to himself).

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “Kid, whatever happens -- whatever _has_ happened, we’re in this together now. And, honestly, this involves the whole city since it’s the city that’s blowing up.”

That was exactly the problem. The city -- Spider-Man’s city -- was blowing up because of Peter.

“Not to mention, what makes you think you’re the target?” Clint spoke up from the back of the room, tucked in a shadowed corner.

Peter’s eyes darted to the note, remembering the words. He shuffled for a moment as everyone stared at him expectantly. “Doctor Doom called me here using my spider senses,” he blurted.

The clocks ticked, timing the pause that followed Peter’s explanation. 

Everyone was just staring at him like he hadn’t told them exactly how everything that had happened had been his fault _once again_. It was bad enough with Kat, but now Doctor Doom had been hurting people to get to him, and he could have listened to his spidey senses sooner, but he didn’t. He should have just followed his senses and dealt with whatever Doom had planned. He could have taken him, but he didn’t.

And as everyone stared without any trace of judgement or anger in their eyes, Peter wanted to scream. They should be angry at him. _He_ was angry.

Wade broke the relative silence with a gasp and shook the note. “I get it! Doctor _Doom_. I take it back, the quality is okay.”

The eyes left Peter as everyone turned to Wade.

“So what are we waiting for? Why don’t we follow your spider senses to this asshole right now, and we can tear them a new one? Or a few new ones. I personally think we should go with at least six.”

Peter rubbed at his neck. “I haven’t sensed it since we got here.” As if he hadn’t proven himself useless enough already.

Tony patted his shoulder and stepped toward the door. “We know who it is now. That’s a start. We can figure out what to do about it back at the Tower.”

“Okay.” Peter glanced around the room at the smashed clocks and behind the counter at the green splatter. “Do you think somebody works here? ‘Cause we might need to do something about that.” 

\---

Peter examined samples of the oil the mutates from the experiments had been secreting. The work helped him focus as he tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

Doom had stopped broadcasting the signal, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still out there, planting more bombs.

Peter had swung through the city for hours until the sun sank beneath the horizon and reemerged to brighten the day in a manner that didn’t fit the current mood. It seemed like the day should be cloudy or something. But the real world wasn’t the movies, so the sun blazed brightly through the clear sky, not caring about the events of the world.

Once he couldn’t swing anymore, he came back to the Tower and got to work on the samples. Tony hadn’t found him to tell him to follow lab safety rules and stop working, so he kept analyzing.

Deadpool was the one who found him a few minutes later. He waltzed in with more tacos and a cheerful greeting.

Before Peter could accept the gift, his senses flared. The windows shattered into the room with a burst of sound that felt like it would burst Peter’s eardrums. He clenched his hands over his ears and searched the sky outside the window for whatever created the sound.

Deadpool ran to the window, looked down, and jumped out.

Peter’s heart dropped, and he jumped out after Wade, angling his body to cut through the air. He reached Wade and shot a web out, relying on his instincts to aim. He felt the tug in his shoulder, and they swung through the air.

On the street, directly below their arc, stood Doctor Doom, staring up at them.

Peter held on to Wade to protect him from the harsh ground as they tumbled for a moment in landing. The concrete scraped against Peter’s elbows, and he hissed.

“Babe!” Deadpool scolded. “I had my grappling hook.” He picked him up off the floor and swiped at his elbow, like he was dusting it off. He cooed and tutted until Peter pushed him away. They had bigger problems than some scraped skin right now.

Peter raced back toward the Tower, toward Doom, sensing Deadpool’s footsteps running after him.

“Spider-Man!” Doom shouted. “You can’t hide with the Avengers forever. Doctor Doom will always find you.”

“It sure took you long enough,” Peter shouted back, shooting a web at his arm. The web burnt to a crisp and shriveled off of the glove.

They rushed at each other, Doom reaching out with both gloves. Peter jumped over him at the last second and reached behind him to grab his cape and pull him over. Doom rolled out of it and jabbed his fist at Peter.

“Do you recognize the superior work of Doctor Doom, Spider-Man? I know these gloves have quelled you before.”

Peter watched the glove as he leaned back, and it swung past his nose. It was the same kind of glove those guards had been wearing. “You certainly gave it a try, but I wouldn’t call myself ‘quelled.’” He swung under another fist to land a hit of his own.

“You will be! Just wait till you see my newest creation: the Spider Bot!” He gestured behind Peter.

Turning around, he saw a few of the Avengers and Deadpool fighting a towering robot spider that tore through the sidewalk and Stark Tower with eight clawed limbs. One of the metal appendages slammed Tony into the ground.

A hand grabbed his head and ground his face into the concrete while he was distracted by the scene. Doom cackled behind him.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Peter grabbed the arm and heaved Doom over him with a grunt. 

The metal suit clanked against rock, and Doom took a moment to stagger to his feet before resuming his readied stance. “With you, I will defeat the Fantastic Four once and for all.” 

Doom pressed something on his wrist, and a yellow smoke poured out of a tube on his glove.

Peter sprung away and jumped onto the side of a building to watch Doom below. He pressed another thing, and a pellet shot toward Peter. He dodged easily, but it burst open to release the same yellow smoke.

“You can try to resist, Spider-Man, but you cannot stop me! With my mastery of science, I will eliminate the Fantastic Four, and you, too!”

More pellets shot out, and Peter dodged them all, weaving between them as he bounded down the sidewalk, running in circles around Doom.

He shot a web at Doom’s boot as he ran and wrapped it a few times around before yanking on the strand and toppling Doom.

He zapped the web again, disintegrating it.

“Spidey, look out!”

Peter’s spidey senses blared, and he jumped to the side. He didn’t notice Wade leaping in front of him until it was too late. He tried to reach out and pull him away, but he couldn’t reach. The silver ball shot into Wade’s stomach and exploded in a flash like lightning.

Peter scrambled to him, clawing his way across the concrete.

Wade groaned and rolled onto his back. “Ouch. I think I need mouth to mouth after that one.”

His heartbeat was not steady. Peter crouched in front of him as Doom stood up with both his gloves at the ready again.

Peter shot webs over both Doom’s fists and yanked forward. He wasted no time slinging more webs over the rest of his suit of armor, sticking him to the ground.

Once Doom was properly stuck, Peter ran back to Wade, who was already clambering to his feet and pulling out a sword. “Are you okay?”

“Shit shit shit --” Wade ran past him and caught something in his arms. He dropped to the floor and curled around it as Peter’s spidey senses finally alerted him to the danger. 

“Spidey, run!”

Peter shouldn’t have run.

He should have webbed the grenade and slung it far away from both of them. But his traitorous feet carried him away, leaving Wade to his doom. He noticed that Doom was running, too.

Doom looked back over his shoulder, eyes ablaze with anger beneath his mask. “This is not over, Spider-Man.”

The street shook as the grenade exploded.

\---

This time, Peter ran in the right direction -- back to Wade -- on shaking legs. He thought he might pass out when he saw the strewn body parts that were all that remained of Wade. They were charred and barely recognizable.

The Avengers came running from the opposite direction, having felled the Spider Bot. Tony stared at the spot Wade had been while Romanoff ran to Peter and stood by him, panting.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He’s gone.” Surely this was something Wade could not recover from. When Peter sank to his knees, there was no heartbeat to be found. There wasn’t even a heart to beat. Peter shouldn’t have run.

Romanoff knelt next to him.

“He has a healing factor.” Peter’s voice sounded like it came from far away. “Or had?” God, it sounded ridiculous. Peter had a healing factor, too, but this wasn’t something a healing factor could fix. Right?

He foolishly held on to hope. Berating himself for being such a stubborn fool, he gathered all the pieces of Wade that he could find, gathered them into his arms. Hope was all he had, so he didn’t let it go. And he didn’t let Wade go.

He carefully carried the pieces back to the tower and deposited them in a bed. He hoped he had put the pieces in the right spots. It was hard to tell for most of them. Not to mention the huge gaps between pieces where Wade should be.

Peter felt sick looking at it.

He closed the door with a soft click.

\---

After a brief knock on the open door, Clint walked into Peter’s room. He had been staying at the tower to be near what was left of Wade. Just in case.

He wondered how long Tony would give him before they had to bury the body -- or cremate it. So far, he had given Peter two days.

Clint sat down on the bed, and the corner sunk a bit under his weight. “Do you want some food? I don’t make much beyond grilled cheese, but. . .” he trailed off with a sigh.

“That sounds good.” He attempted a smile. It felt empty, but he hoped it got the idea across.

Clint smiled back, just as emptily, and left the room.

Peter shouldn’t have run. Why did he run? Why did Wade catch the grenade? Why did he not throw it away?

Wade had sacrificed himself for a hero moment and left Peter unable to say anything. He couldn’t yell at Wade for making him lose months of sleep and feel like he was losing his mind all that time ago. He couldn’t ask him _why_. He couldn’t make stupid jokes with him anymore.

Wade had been selfish. It was a dick move.

The resentment that had curled in Peter’s gut fled, replaced by guilt. That was unfair of him. Wade had taken a grenade for Peter. He should be grateful.

He wasn’t.

He gripped on to the anger because it was the least confusing of everything flooded through his head.

Clint walked back in with a grilled cheese and another empty smile. Handing a plate to Peter, he set his own on the bed and sat next to it.

Peter took a flavorless bite.

“Have you --” Clint swallowed a bite. “Have you checked on him?”

Peter shook his head. He hadn’t dared. If Wade was coming back, he didn’t want to accidentally walk in on him when he wasn’t able to hide his identity. He obviously cared about that. And if he wasn’t coming back, well. . .

Peter didn’t want to think about that. He chomped down on the sandwich.

“There’s still time.” Clint chewed thoughtfully and waited a while before continuing. “He told me what happened between you two,” he said softly, like he was unsure if he should be admitting as much.

“Oh.”

“If he does come back, I think you should talk to him. Not saying you have to or anything. I just think it might be good for both of you.”

“We already talked about it.”

“Sure, but now you’ve both had some time to think.” Clint watched Peter closely.

He’d had too much time to think, too long to remember the word ‘money’ falling easily out of Deadpool’s mouth. Peter couldn’t handle hearing it again. Especially not now.

Clint shrugged. “Just an idea.” He crawled off of Peter’s bed and offered a wave and a smile before strolling out into the hall.

\---

Peter itched with the need to do something. Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his web-shooters to snap them on.

He swung out of an open window and worked his way toward Deadpool’s apartment. It felt eerily empty. Nothing moved, and dirty plates sat in the sink like they were waiting for him to come back, just like Peter was.

The usual chatter and music flooding the rooms had vanished, leaving a distinct hole.

Peter shook the feeling off and moved with purpose to Deadpool’s closet. He pulled out a Deadpool suit as well as a set of comfy clothes and socks, even though Peter had only seen him in civvies a handful of times.

He also grabbed the Spider-Man plushie from Wade’s bed that Wade thought he didn’t know about.

Once it was all securely bundled up, he swung back.

He made his way into the room with his eyes screwed shut just in case. He was beyond tempted to look but desperate not to at the same time. After he set the bundle on the floor, he backed out and shut the door.

It still smelled fine in there, which was probably a good sign.

He swung outside again to patrol, desperate to take his mind off things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dipping into canon for a villain? Me?  
> You best believe it, folks.
> 
> I was so excited to write this chapter, and writing for Doom turned out to be fun. He cracks me up.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next chapter: it's alive!, sleepy times, more food (is anyone surprised?)
> 
> Cheerily yours,  
> Kenwick


	21. Amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: N/A

When Wade woke up this time, it was different.

This time, he was in Stark Tower on a bed. He was never on a bed. It was too much of a mess to clean up when he scrambled his brains, and most deaths were in the streets anyway, not the sheets.

Even the last one had been, so someone must have moved him here.

{Probs Spidey.}

[No, he still hates us.]

“Yeah, it must have been Way Too Shining Armor.” The words scraped out of his raw throat, and Wade curled into a coughing fit.

When he recovered, he noticed the pile of stuff on the floor next to the door. He slid out of the bed and stumbled over to it. It was his suit and clothes topped with his Spidey plushie.

“How did Squishy Spidey get here?”

{Again, probs Spidey.}

[He doesn’t know about Squishy.]

{Obviously he does because Squishy is here.}

Wade sat on the floor and squished the plushie, which was as squishable as the Pillsbury Dough Boy. It looked like Spidey but with, somehow, even bigger lenses. It was the perfect thing to wake up to. Spidey himself would have been better, sure, but Wade couldn’t hope for that.

He put on his Deadpool suit with sweatpants, for maximum comfort, and walked out the door, stretching to loosen his stiff limbs.

The common space was weirdly unoccupied, so Wade sang to himself to fill the silence while the boxes made their own effort by arguing about mayonnaise.

He poured a tall glass of water, much like himself, and downed it so his voice would stop sounding like gravel fucking sandpaper.

{Nothing wrong with that.}

Except that it hurt like  _ being _ fucked by gravel and sandpaper. He yanked his mask back down as soon as the water was gone.

Shortly after, Wade’s favorite not-plushie walked out of a door and froze a few steps later, mouth literally falling open, like a ridiculous, charming cartoon.

“Do I have something on my face?” Wade patted his hands over his mask and tried to hide his glee which was making him grin like an idiot and bob back and forth on his toes. Spidey was there, though! Glee was normal in this scenario.

But he didn’t look right. Wade leaned forward.

Spidey’s mask and civvies were all crumpled, his shoulders drooped, and his knees quivered ever so slightly. He looked. . . worse.

[I’d guess tired.]

{Or maybe he’s just so happy to see us he’s freaking out!}

[No.]

“What’s wrong, snookums? Tongue got your cat?” Wade leaned on the counter and put his head in his hand, watching Spidey closely.

“You’re here.”

There was a regrettable lack of enthusiasm there. Wade had hoped for at least a ‘Hey, welcome back, dear love of my life.’

[That’s a stupid thing to hope for.]

{I think it’s cute.}

“Yup, in the disgusting flesh.” Wade grinned. “And you’re here, too. I wasn’t really expecting that, but the plot has been pushing us together an awful lot, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised to see you.”

Spidey took a hesitant step forward. “You were gone.”

“I only went from the bedroom to here.”

[Wade, I think he means that we died.]

“Oh! That makes more sense.” Then he realized and gasped. “Were you worried about me, Webs?”

“You were  _ gone _ . I -- I picked up the pieces.”

[Our literal pieces? Gross. I hope he is using a metaphor for something.]

Spidey still seemed a bit out of it, and Wade didn’t know what the fuck to do at this point. He awkwardly shuffled to Spidey so there wasn’t such a gap between them. 

“I’m all better, babe. They don’t call me the Regenerating Degenerate for nothing. And I already told you I’m like a -- What did I say? Caffeinated whack-a-mole?”

{On meth. Yeah.}

“I pop back up quicker than porn ads is the point, and I’m totally okay now.” He leaned a little closer and stage-whispered, “Though, I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to kiss it better.”

After a long pause and what Wade had thought was a staring contest, Spidey looked up and down Wade with frantic movements and squeaked, “You were gone for three days.”

“So maybe not  _ quite _ as fast as porn ads, but that still seems like a pretty good respawn rate if I do say so myself.”

“I’m so sorry, Wade,” Spidey burst out, “I shouldn’t have run away. I shouldn’t have left you there. I could have just -- If I had webbed the grenade -- If I had taken down Doom faster, I could’ve --”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Wade held out his hands and waved them back and forth to try and get Spidey to stop freaking out. He looked all worried and guilty, and it was doing things to Wade’s heart that were just unfair. 

“Webs. Chill. I knew I could take care of the grenade and leave your pretty little butt to take care of the rest of it. That wasn’t your fault, and again, I’m  _ fine,” _ he reiterated, because apparently Spidey wasn’t getting the message.

“I let him hurt you.”

“We all take hits. ‘Tis the life of heroes.”

“ _ Three days _ , Wade.”

He winced. It had only felt like a few moments to him, and maybe he hadn’t really stopped to think about poor Spidey having to deal with that. Not that he would have guessed Spidey would actually care. 

“I’m sorry,” Wade sighed.

And then came another unexpected event. Your one and only Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, genius goofball and too pure for this world, hugged Wade Wilson, the fucked-up, mouthy mercenary worth two shits and a lambs tail. 

[To be fair, you’re both mouthy. Also, that’s not the expression.]

{It’s an expression now.}

The point was that Spidey had hugged Wade and was holding him tight like he actually mattered, and Wade was too shocked to do anything about it.

{Hug him back, moron!}

Wade hesitated before setting his arms carefully on Spidey’s back, worried that he would jerk back at any second or laugh at Wade. Maybe this was actually Spidey trying to squeeze him to death in retribution and not a hug, like Wade had thought.

But Spidey didn’t pull back or laugh, so Wade held him close in shocked disbelief. Maybe he had actually managed to die and was in heaven now.

[That’s so stupid. There is no way that a shitbag like you would make it into heaven.]

{ ♪ _ Ooh, heaven is a place on Earth. They say in heaven, love comes first _ . ♪ }

Spidey held him tighter and squished his cheek into Wade’s shoulder.

Yup, Wade had found heaven.

[Get out of here before we hurt him again. He is too good for us.]

When Spidey sniffled too adorably and pathetically for Wade’s heart to handle, he pulled back and held Spidey’s head in his hand. “What’s wrong, sweetums?”

Spidey took a step back, out of Wade’s reach, and smashed a hand along his nose, wiping it harshly. “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to. . .” He turned to the side and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Oh, sure. It’s alright.” He wasn’t sure if Spidey meant the hug or the snot, but he didn’t want to know. If Spidey hadn’t meant to hug him, well, who could blame him? 

Anyhow. Seemed like a good time for a topic change. “Do you want some pancakes?”

Obviously Spidey never said no to pancakes, so Wade got to work in the kitchen to whip his spider up an extra big, extra fluffy batch. And if he gave them smiles and goofy faces in hopes of cheering Spidey up, nobody needed to know.

{Except you, apparently. Hi, readers! I love you!}

[Stop talking to them.]

“Be nice, White. Say ‘hi.’”

[I will not.]

Spidey paused with a forkful of fluffy goodness raised halfway to his mouth. He looked like he was about to ask, but didn’t. Instead, he continued eating pancakes with the quality maple syrup Wade had smuggled into the Tower a few weeks ago.

Repulsive Repulsors had no idea.

Wade pushed the cut up pancake on his plate around with the fork. It looked delicious but not worth a repeat of prior events involving pancakes.

Spidey piled more pancakes onto his plate and set about dousing them in sugar and fat, as all good pancakes must be.

He swallowed a bite hard, with an audible gulp. “Can we talk about the, uh, the deal? You know -- with her?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Things were just starting to get better. “I have to go -- Gotta piss really bad. BRB, babe.”

“How is that even possible? Didn’t you just regrow your bladder?”

Wade bounded out of the room to find a bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him, breathing heavily. He looked around the room. There was no escape. What was he supposed to do?

[Fucking talk like actual, functioning adults.]

{No! Spidey will hate us forever. Do you remember how he looked last time we talked about it? We can’t do that to him again.}

“I doubt we can make it any worse.” It had already been hella hellish. Wade never wanted to do that to Spidey ever again.

{You always find a way to make things worse. Why would this be any different?}

[Doesn’t matter. He deserves answers from the pervert who  _ stalked _ him for months.]

Well. After the answers, Spidey was certainly gonna hate Wade.

[Shit’s tough. Deal with it.]

He washed his hands to give himself more time to dwell on the damning events that were to come before shuffling out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen.

He dropped into his seat and stared at his hands.

“Can we talk about it?”

He nodded sharply. “Of course. Anything you want to know, Spidey.”

Spidey took a deep breath. “Why did you tell me? That day back in the alley, I mean.”

Honesty’s the best policy, right? Shit. All the other policies must suck absolute ass. “I told you because I figured out what was really going on, with the experiments and all. Before that, I thought it was just some nobody with shitty plans to take you down with libel or something.”

“Jameson’s tried the libel route. I’m still as polarizing as ever.”

{Stupid Jameson. Do you remember his paper saying Spidey had killed someone? Pffshh. As if.}

“That’s cause you’re so magnetic.” Wade grinned at him.

“Yeah,” Spidey laughed, “sure.” He took a drink of iced tea and paused before asking his next question. “Did you find out any private information? And did you share any of it?”

[Oh, you were tempted, Wade. Don’t deny that.]

Maybe he had been, but he had never actually considered trying to find out shit about Spidey’s personal life. That crossed a line even beyond Wade’s skewed sense of morality.

“I stayed away from any secret identity stuff, if that’s what you mean. They didn’t ask, but I wouldn’t have taken the job if they had. It was all just figuring out what your powers were and if you had any skeletons in your superhero closet. To absolutely no one’s surprise, there’s no skeletons.”

{Literally no one should be surprised by this. Spidey is like a bottle of Purell that just finished going through the wash.}

[We wish our closet was as boneless as his.]

Spidey paused even longer before his third question. “Did you befriend me just to get information from me?”

Wade gaped. Who the shit would do that? That would be fucked up beyond anything. “No way, Spidey! I just was drawn in by your magnetism, nothing else.”

The way Spidey’s posture stayed tense, like he wasn’t convinced, made Wade seethe. If someone had dared to do that to kind, adorkable Spidey, he would tear them limb from limb for it. Spidey didn’t deserve that kind of assholery.

“Spidey, if we were actually friends as you say, which -- excuse me while I squeal like a fangirl --” He turned around to squeal into his hands like a fangirl before turning back. “-- then it was only because you are fantabulous and put up with me. And maybe just a tiny bit because of your ass, because damn.”

Wade leaned back a bit to try and sneak a peek, but the chair blocked his view.

{Stupid chair.}

[I thought we were going to try to not be a pervert.]

Wade was pretty sure Spidey rolled his eyes at that, but he looked a bit more relaxed, his shoulders finally losing their tension.

Wade plopped more pancakes on Spidey’s plate. “All butts aside, you’re a good friend, Spidey.”

He smiled at that, which obviously made Wade melt, as he was prone to do around Spidey.

“Thanks, Wade. You’re a good friend, too.”

He was wrong about that, of course, but it still made Wade feel all fuzzy inside, like a moldy enchilada.

[Why would you go with that analogy? That’s gross.]

Fine, like a chinchilla.

{Bonus points for sexy word choice.}

[Let’s not call chinchillas sexy.]

“Not chinchillas themselves, the word. For example, are chimichangas sexy? Well, I mean, in this case, yeah. But it’s more about the word ‘chimichanga.’”

Spidey stared at him with those big, white lenses while he slowly chewed a bite. He never asked about the Boxes, even though Wade had seen the curiosity burning in him.

{Does he not care about me? I’m his biggest fan.}

[I am all too aware. You’re incessant chatter makes me long for death.]

Ignoring White’s melodrama, Wade stood up and piled the dishes in his arms to carry to the sink. “I’m gonna head back to mi casa for a while. You can only pour salt in Iron-Deficient Man’s coffee so many times before it loses its charm. Sixty-two times, for the record. And it really only lost its charm because he started taking tiny sips first to cheat his way out of the game.”

“Just cheat harder.”

“I would, but I have to wait until he least expects it.”

Spidey snorted and shook his head.

“M’kay. Bye, boo. See ya tomorrow.” Wade waved goodbye with both his hands as he backed toward the elevator.

Spidey stiffened and leaned forward, out of his seat. “Wait, ‘Pool. Can I -- Do you mind if I come with you?”

“To mi casa?”

“No, to Area 51,” Spidey deadpanned. He could be such a sarcastic little shit.

“You can tag along if you don’t do your web jizz all over my apartment again.”

“It’d be authentic decorations for Fall, but if you insist.”

{Ooh, actually, we could use some badass decor like that.}

[It would make a mess.]

Wade had to begrudgingly admit that he could not turn down spider web decorations in autumn because they just had that vibe that you can’t beat, you know? He hadn’t even considered that Spidey could get him some real ones for free. That was a good deal.

“Okay, you have a good point. Spin away, Spidey.”

While Spidey went to retrieve some things, Wade gathered his clothes and Squishy and dashed back to the elevator. Once Spidey arrived, they went down and left Stark Tower to walk to Wade’s apartment.

“Hey, Spidey, can we do baby gorilla again?”

“Do baby gorilla?”

Wade nodded enthusiastically. “You know, where I get on your back and you carry me around.” It had been so fun last time.

“It sounds like you just want to not have to do the work of walking.”

“Oh, most definitely.”

Spidey sighed and grabbed Wade’s shirt from the pile in his arms. He stuffed all the other things in it and webbed the corners together to make a little bag. “Okay, hop on. And no squirming this time.”

Wade nodded so hard he thought his head might roll off before clambering onto Spidey’s back and wrapping his legs around his waist. Baby-gorilla style.

[We are broadening our horizons from badass style.]

{I maybe like this one even better.}

Spidey shot a web, and away they swung.

And, God, it was even better than climbing up the side of a building. Wade did his very best not to squirm, but the exhilaration made him want to bounce and squirm like a dancing caterpillar.

{I wanna be a butterfly.}

Spidey moved between the rows of buildings with ease. Wade wondered if it was from practice or the senses he had talked about. Either way, it made for a smooth ride far above the heads of people below. Wade watched them swarm in the streets as they flew by.

Spidey gripped Wade’s thigh. “Stop squirming.”

Oop. Now was not the time to get excited, not when he was pressed so close to Spidey and at death-distance from the ground. But Spidey fucking squeezed his thigh, and he had been squirming against Spidey’s back, and  _ shit _ .

Spidey, saintly Spidey, didn’t say anything, and he didn’t throw Wade off to his death.

Wade, in turn, did his best to stop squirming, even though he really wanted Spidey to hold him down again. Who said he had no restraint?

[You do not.]

{Even I agree here. We don’t really. Spidey had to restrain us.}

Wade did manage to restrain himself for the rest of the trip, despite the Boxes doubts. Fuck you. He had restraint.

[Wade, you chug syrup.]

{^^^}

“Yellow, you told me to do it!”

{And you did. Case in point.}

They dropped out of the sky then. Wade yelped as they went down, down, down to the concrete below. Spidey caught them. Wade had never doubted that he would. Well, maybe for a second, but no more.

They descended smoothly on a web the rest of the way until Spidey was standing on the solid ground in front of Wade’s apartment building. He climbed off onto surprisingly shaky legs.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime.”

Ooh, that was a promise Wade would take advantage of. Another time, though. For now, he waved Spidey into the building and walked with him up the stairs.

\---

Spidey could deny it all he wanted, but he was about to conk out at any moment. Although Wade wasn’t sure how much sleep he had been getting, it couldn’t have been much. He kept blinking hard, over and over, and he refused to count sheep or lay down on the guest bed -- or even the couch.

Instead, he sat on the couch with crossed arms and a clenched jaw. Wade wanted to laugh but feared the reaction of a sleep-deprived Spidey.

“Popcorn?” Wade asked from the kitchen.

Spidey’s head bobbed ‘yes,’ and Wade slapped a package in the microwave to begin popping. He didn’t take his eyes off the microwave for a second, not willing to risk the moment that popcorn turns from golden goodness to bitter, black chars.

{A tragedy that only takes seconds.}

[Just make another batch.]

“The smell, White. The smell lingers.”

The popping stopped, Wade counted the seconds, and he ripped open the door to stop the cooking. Crisis averted.

Spidey was still forcing himself to stay awake when Wade plopped onto the couch next to him and handed him a bowl of popcorn.

{We missed the opportunity to make one bowl and both reach in at the same time, so our fingers touch. That would’ve been nice.}

[You’re pathetic.]

Wade clicked to start the movie:  _ Galaxy Quest _ . He thought Spidey would like it since he was a massive nerd. He had talked about  _ Star Trek _ and shit before.

Once Spidey was fully drawn into the movie (predictable), Wade pulled his mask up enough to cram handfuls of popcorn in while he had the cover of darkness.

{You know what I just realized? Popcorn is yellow and white, just like us.}

[Hooray.]

About halfway through the movie, Spidey lost his battle and slumped into the couch. His arms uncrossed, and he looked much more peaceful. It was nice, except for the way it made Wade’s gut twist.

{There’s my butterflies.}

It got even worse when Spidey leaned into Wade, and pressed up all warm and gentle against his arm. He tensed, unsure what to do. He didn’t want Spidey to be upset with him.

{Just let it be. It’s nice.}

Spidey leaned back a little into his own space and looked up at Wade.

Wade frantically tugged his mask back down and looked back at Spidey with wide eyes. He thought Spidey had been asleep.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Wade replied way too quickly. “You can if you want to.” He really hoped Spidey wanted to.

Spidey shrugged and leaned against Wade again. “Thanks.”

After a moment, Wade tucked his arm around Spidey to keep him safe and warm. 

It felt like a dream. Twice in one day, Spidey had touched Wade and not immediately jumped back or tensed up. Wade wasn’t sure what was happening, but he hoped it didn’t stop.

He didn’t even know what was happening on the tv anymore because Spidey was there, curled up against him.

His heart threatened to pound out of his chest even as Spidey’s breaths steadied in what Wade again assumed was sleep.

[Relax, Wade. You’re like a goddamn marble statue sitting there.]

{Comfy-pillow style now, big guy.}

Wade did his best to relax, and soon enough he felt himself drifting off into sleep.

\---

Mom’s smile shone like the sun, bright and warm. It matched her springtime voice perfectly. “It’s alright, baby boy. I’m here with you.”

Wade trembled in her arms as they sat on the rough, wood floors. A kid threw a baseball outside and shouted to his friend. They stared at Wade in his room, sneering and gagging at his scars.

“I’m here, baby boy. I’m here.”

But then she wasn’t there.

She let go of Wade and drifted away into inky darkness, where Wade would lose her. He reached out to her, but she turned away.

With a shout, Wade clambered to his feet and tried to run along the molasses floor to get to her. Every step he took, she seemed to only grow farther, shrinking away from him.

They all were shrinking away. He shouted at Vanessa because surely she would come back to him, but she didn’t react.

Suddenly, they were all around him, crowding him, pushing against him. Everyone shot him looks of disgust as they passed. The faces he saw were not faces he knew. But Mom was in the crowd somewhere. She had to be.

Wade called out to her.

The crowd laughed.

\---

When Wade woke up with a start, gasping in breaths, Spidey was murmuring and writhing in his sleep.

Wade shook him awake, and his arms lashed out into Wade’s stomach. The strength surprised Wade, and all the air wheezed out of him.

He set his hands on Spidey’s arms to try and calm him down. “Spidey, woah. It’s okay. Calm down, baby boy. It’s okay,” he soothed, running a hand down Spidey’s back. “You’re safe here.”

Spidey grabbed at his shoulders, patting him as if to make sure he was real. “You were dead.”

Wade shivered at the springtime voice. He shoved down the memories it brought up. “Yeah, it happens. But I’m okay now, baby boy, see?”

He held out a hand and Spidey pressed his own against it. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Wade kept repeating it back reassuringly until Spidey fell asleep again.

[What the  _ fuck _ was that?]

{Did you really just. . . ?}

[What the fuck.]

Wade flinched back at the venom in White’s voice. “I was just trying to make him feel better s’all.”

[She abandoned us.]

“She took care of us.” Wade remembered her soft hands wiping away Wade’s tears and cooking him pancakes. He remembered her singing to him with her warm, fresh voice. There had been happy times.

[You can’t just ignore the rest of it.]

He could damn well try.

He continued rubbing soothing circles in Spidey’s arm and repeating ‘okay’ until sleep took him as well.

\---

As soon as he woke up, Wade itched to do something, anything. He set about making more pancakes. Spidey could never have enough pancakes, and neither could Wade.

He kept mixing, pouring, cooking, flipping until he felt a hand on his arm.

“Even my metabolism’s not that high, Wade.”

Wade glanced over at the stacks of pancakes piled on the counter. Huh. Maybe he had gone a  _ little _ overboard.

[Oh, yes. Just a little, I’m sure.]

“Leftovers are a thing. Reheat these bad boys, and bam. Whole new meal right there.”

Spidey grinned and walked to sit at the counter. “I’ll not complain about pancakes, leftover or otherwise.”

“I know. They’re your number one.” Wade slid a plate to him and grabbed one of his own, not planning to actually eat any of it while Spidey was there.

“For now.” Spidey shot a look at Wade that made his heart apparently decide to become a gymnast.

He smiled back and enjoyed just having Spidey back to eat all his pancakes and hog his couch. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's fair to call this at least bittersweet, right? Like dark chocolate maybe. I wanted to lighten things up a bit after all the shit I made these two go through.  
> And they finally worked things out between them! Good for them.
> 
> So, here's a sweet(er) chapter for all you wonderful people. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Next chapter: impending Doom, some assembly required, thanks
> 
> Honored to be yours,  
> Kenwick


	22. Impounding Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

Peter hadn’t expected to break down when he saw Wade up and about, acting like it was any normal Monday, but all the anger he had been building up had just fled, leaving him defenseless.

Now, as he watched Wade push his pancakes around on the plate, the anger returned, but it pointed in a new direction. He knew that he would not let Doom do any more damage to his city. More importantly, he wouldn’t let him hurt Wade again.

Doom was going to meet his doom.

Peter smiled a bit at his own joke before shoveling more pancakes into his mouth. If they were going to make even a dent on the batch Wade had made, they had a lot of work to do. But Peter was willing to sacrifice and eat all the pancakes he could muster. 

It turned out to be around two-thirds, but a few plates, piled high, remained. They were glaring reminders that Wade still didn’t feel comfortable to even eat around Peter -- the ramifications of another mistake he didn’t know how to fix. 

Wade was still nudging the pancakes to and fro with a perpetual pout.

“Do you mind if I borrow some clothes?”

With the usual cheer in his voice, Wade said, “Not at all, baby boy. Help yourself.”

There was the new name again. The way Wade said it was softer than other things he called Peter. It felt like less of a joke, which was disconcerting. Brushing it off, Peter went to the closet to look for clothes.

He ended up putting on a pair of shorts (with the help of some webbing to hold them up) and one of Wade’s sweatshirts that somehow managed to be way softer than anything Peter owned. It had Deadpool’s logo on it, which didn’t make sense to Peter since he wore the mask and suit almost constantly anyway, but he kind of liked it.

When he walked back out, Wade was stuffing heaping forkfuls of pancakes in his mouth faster than seemed safe.

Peter stalled in the doorway a few moments to let Wade enjoy the pancakes (at least as much as he could with them barely passing his taste buds before being swallowed) before he cleared his throat to make sure his presence was known and walking forward to sit back down in his seat.

Wade yanked his mask down and leaned far too casually on the counter for someone who had just been gorging himself like a twice-starved man. “Welcome back, sweet stuff. At this rate, I think we’re gonna miss out on leftovers.”

Peter glanced at the counter long enough to realize they had put down all but a few of Wade’s addictive pancakes. Without much hesitation, Peter finished them off, feeling for once in his life since the spider bite, full. It was a strange feeling.

Adding to the strange feeling, Wade had gone weirdly still. It would have been another ‘for once in his life,’ but the same thing had happened the night before when Peter had stupidly fallen asleep on him.

The change in demeanor made Peter wonder if he had done something wrong again. He had tried to be careful since the mask incident, but maybe Wade didn’t want him in his apartment anymore.

“Hell, yeah. I’m thinking Cher.” In an instant, Wade hopped back into motion and ran to his bedroom, startling Peter out of his racing thoughts.

Music poured out of the room a moment later, and Wade reappeared in a flurry of red, bounding to the living room to throw himself onto the couch. He pulled a laptop out from some unknown place and jabbed at the keys.

Peter wandered after him and placed himself much more carefully on the couch, aware of the damage it had surely already endured.

“What do you want to do today, Spidey? Chill? Netflix and? Each other?”

“D: None of the above.”

“I heard ‘D,’ and I am totally down for it.” To the side, he added, “Not all of them. It’s a tasteful amount.”

Peter held back a sigh. As nice as a chill day sounded, there was no time for that right now. He had work to do. “I’m going to swing around a while, see if Doom turns up again.”

“Ooh, more explosions? Count me in.”

Peter winced at the thought of Doom’s last explosion. He didn’t want Wade around for that again. “No. You should get some rest after all that.”

“As much as I appreciate the care,  _ you _ were the one falling asleep on me last night. Pot. Kettle.” He pointed to Peter then himself.

“Yeah, I fell asleep last night, so now I’m rested. My point stands.”

“I can take a power nap on your back if you’re that worried about it.”

“So you expect me to just lug you around again?”

“More fat-shaming? Really? I thought we were past that.”

Peter sighed and pondered his options. It  _ was _ nice to have Wade around, and he could just be more careful to keep track of Doom’s explosives. He could keep Wade safe. He had to this time. “Okay, you can come.”

A grin stretched Wade’s mask. “Guilt trip. Never fails on someone with morals the size of Thor’s pecs.”

“You didn’t guilt trip me --”

“Totally did.”

“-- I just don’t want to waste any more time arguing with you.” He turned away from Wade’s triumphant smile to change back into his suit.

\---

If baby gorillas had as much energy as Wade, Peter had a new sympathy for the mother gorillas. As much as he yelled over the wind at Wade to stop wiggling or held him still, the shifting inevitably resumed minutes later.

Finally, Peter stopped on a roof for a break. There had been no sight of Doom, but he was sure news of Spider-Man being out and about would catch his attention. The media was still abuzz with Spider-Man’s return. Peter thought it was an overreaction, considering he had only been gone for a month, but it made Jameson absolutely giddy, which meant more money for Peter. And he really needed the money.

Peter scanned the park below them, which was always buzzing with tourists sure to be taking pictures of Spider-Man to post to their social medias. He made sure to wave at them from the roof, and Wade sidled up beside him to wave, too.

Peter’s spidey sense lit up as he felt the vibrations of something big climbing the building. He whipped around to find another Spider-Bot skittering across the roof. Atop its back sat Doom.

“Spider-Man! You do not have the Avengers to protect you today.”

Peter withheld an eyeroll. “I didn’t have them the first time I whalloped you either.”

“Did you just say whallop? I really wanna know what universe we’re in.” Deadpool pulled out a sword with one hand and reached for something in his pouch with the other. “Hey, dumdum! Prepare to get sucked.”

Peter didn’t have long to be confused before Wade lobbed an explosive of his own at the Spider-Bot. It rolled between its legs and stalled for a moment before erupting in a cloud of debris. 

Avoiding property damage was out of the question now.

Peter ran at the Spider-Bot as it regained its footing and swung around its legs, wrapping them together with webs. The metal creaked and snapped at the awkwardly-bent joints, and the Spider-Bot toppled to the ground.

Doom leapt off of it as it fell.

Pulling out his other sword, Deadpool raced toward Doom. 

Peter felt a buzz of warning and shot a web at Doom’s outstretched fist. It didn’t catch, but Doom changed his trajectory enough to avoid it that he missed Deadpool.

They exchanged rapid, blocked blows while Peter shot a web to a chimney and swung toward them. He shot another web at Doom’s cape as he passed. Since the cape did not have the electric capabilities that most of Doom’s suit had, the web pulled him along behind Peter as he swung.

Deadpool chased after them, and they all ended up in close proximity next to the chimney. Peter kept an eye on the gloves and his feet planted in the ground to feel for vibrations.

“You have not yet encountered the most genius of my inventions.”

“What? Sliced bread?” Peter said.

A jolt of warning barely gave Peter enough time to roll out of the way as a pellet hit the chimney and burst open to release dozens of tiny bots. Peter splattered a web over them to keep them still. He’d rather not find out what they did.

“I think your inventions could use some work.”

Doom growled and leapt toward him, arms outstretched. Deadpool stepped in front of him as he moved, and Doom’s gloves wrapped around the sword. The electric current went through the sword and shocked Deadpool, but he just shook it off.

“Ooh, a powerup.” He swung the sword again and continued in another flurry of attacks with Doom.

While Doom was distracted with Wade, Peter shot another web at his cape and pulled it around him, wrapping his arms to his body. He secured the trap with more webs and pulled to topple Doom to the ground.

Wade had a blade to his neck in an instant, slid between the gaps in his armor.

Peter grabbed Wade’s arm to pull him back. “We already got him.”

Wade was breathing heavily, and Peter could feel his heart pounding. He didn’t take his glare off of Doom.

“That’s what you think. You fools underestimate the genius work of Doctor Doom!” He pointed behind him on the roof.

The fucking Spider-Bot was back.

It skittered to them with two arms raised. As Peter’s senses hummed at him, he shot a web at the bladed arm rushing toward Wade and yanked it.

The blade slid over his thigh before burying into the ground, and Peter hissed. He grabbed the arm and flung the Spider-Bot into the ground, smashing the metal against the concrete.

Once it was temporarily disabled, he crawled up it to rip the sheets of armor from its body and tear apart the machinery inside. The Spider-Bot whirred to a stop, falling still beneath Peter. He jumped down.

Wade still stood by Doom, blade held out.

“I think you need some time to unwind, Doctor Doom.” Peter smirked at him while nudging Wade back a bit to clear some of the danger.

“You mock the great name of Doom now, but I will destroy the Fantastic Four -- and you with them.”

“Nah.” Wade finally spun his blade back and sheathed it. “We’re gonna take you to Hollow Can Man and let you fight it out. You’re welcome to try and destroy him if you want.”

“Wade, no.”

“Wade, yes.” He crouched down to pick up Doom with a grunt. “Oh, fuck. So heavy.”

“Now you know how it feels.” Peter grinned. It was easy enough to pick Wade up, but the squirming made it more difficult than it needed to be.

Wade gasped. “Rude.”

“Here, let me.” Peter grabbed Doom from Wade, lifting him easily.

“Holy fuck knuckles. That looks even better than baby gorilla. I want a free sample after this.”

“Return me to the ground, Spider-Man!”

“If you insist.” Peter sprinted to the edge of the roof and leapt off. They fell as Doom squirmed around as if to escape. He was lucky Peter had stuck to him so he didn’t  _ actually _ fall to his death.

Relying on the buzz of his senses, he shot a web to catch them just before they hit the ground, and they swung over the concrete before coming to a stop.

Peter winced at the pain that shot through his leg. Right. He had been stabbed. He should probably deal with that pretty soon. For the moment, he shot some webbing over it to patch it until they finished working.

With a sick crack behind him, Wade landed on the ground. Peter’s heart stopped until he saw Wade stand up and limp over to them. 

“Don’t do that. I could have helped you down. Or there’s a fire escape. Or, you know,  _ stairs _ , like normal people use.”

“But I’m not normal. I’m exepnormal.”

“What?”

“And so are you. Extra exepnormal.”

Peter blinked. “Um. Thank you.”

The fabric of Doom’s cape tore, so Peter wrapped more webs around him to keep him secure.

They were a number of blocks away from Stark Tower, and Peter didn’t know how long his webs would last if Doom had more tricks up his literal sleeve.

He turned to Wade. “Race you to the Tower?”

“Okay, but I’ll be very tempted to stay behind you for the view. So if I lose, that’s why.” With that, Wade whipped out his grappling hook and shot it into the side of a building, zipping toward the tower.

Peter picked up Doom and ran with him up a wall to leap along the rooftops. He alternated between jumping and swinging, focusing everything on his efforts, so he didn’t notice when Deadpool left his field of vision.

A couple minutes later, Spidey landed in a crouch in front of the tower, still carrying a furious Doctor Doom. He had webbed his mouth shut halfway through the trip because he wouldn’t shut up. 

He still refused to, mumbling incoherently through the webbing.

Deadpool stepped out of the doors with a dripping ice cream cone. “Hi, baby boy. Glad you could make it.” He held the cone out to Peter.

“How did you get ice cream and still beat me here?”

“A combination of skill and the magic of storytelling.” He wiggled the cone where he held it out to Peter, sending some gloops to the ground.

Peter eyed it warily. But it was strawberry, and he was tired and sore. His leg kept screaming at him despite his attempts to ignore it.

So, he sat a still-protesting Doom on the ground, grabbed the ice cream, and dropped to the ground himself. Wade sat down and shuffled next to him to bump his shoulder into him repeatedly.

“Did you let Tony know we’re here?”

“Yup. Your Iron Dad is on his way to out-tech Dumdum over here.” He jabbed a finger at Doom.

Doom let out more muffled protests, probably something about how he could out-tech anyone.

Tony strolled out, wearing pieces of his suit and followed by Nat and Clint. They helped Doom up from the floor and walked him back to the doors. Tony stopped to wave back to Wade and Peter and say, “Thanks. We’ve got it for today.”

Part of Peter wanted to protest, but the ice cream was dripping, and his leg still had aching, burning pain shooting off over and over.

He lapped up the melting part running down the cone before tearing through the rest of it. The fullness from the morning had not lasted long, and it was entirely gone after the battle.

Wade muttered to the voices while Peter ate, arguing with them about something, as he often did. He hadn’t gotten any ice cream for himself, which added another scoop of guilt to Peter’s conscience.

“Wanna head back?”

Wade lit up at the suggestion and wiggled where he sat. “Ooh, is it time for Netflix and?”

“Sure, we can do Netflix.”

Wade jumped to his feet and held out a hand to help Peter up. “Netflix and baby gorilla. This day is a dream come true, and I’m not even talking about a nightmare this time.”

Peter smiled and braced himself as Wade hopped up on his back. His leg was really protesting now, but they only had a few blocks to go. It would be fine.

He shot a web and swung away.

The inevitable wiggling returned, this time with the added problem of repeatedly jostling Peter’s wound. He gritted his teeth against the pain and kept going until one jab of a boot caused him to flinch and miss his next shot.

He managed to recover with a sloppy shot of web that had them arching lower than comfortable but did keep them from crashing into pedestrians below.

Wade had wrapped his hands tighter around Peter, but his boot was mercifully removed from the wound. Peter swung them home as quickly as he could and collapsed onto the ground once he landed.

Oh, that was no good. The pain in his leg had only worsened. He pulled himself up and limped to the door of the apartment building.

“Spidey, what happened? Did I hurt you?” Wade had run up next to him and was moving his hands around like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

Peter waved them away. “I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Well, sir knight. You can have my arms.” Wade picked him up like he had when Peter’s legs were all broken, as if he hadn’t just been walking around fine for the past hour.

“No -- Wade, stop.” He was back on the ground in an instant, and his traitorous legs promptly buckled beneath him. “Shit.”

He pulled himself back up and limped up the first flight of stairs before stopping and holding himself up with the handrail.

“Not even one arm, dear?”

Peter let out a sigh. “Fine. Can you just -- Can you help me up?”

“Your command is my wish, baby boy.” Wade held out an arm and let Peter grab it so they could make their way up the stairs together. The pace was maddening.

Finally, they made it to the bedroom, and Peter rolled onto the bed with a wince. Peeling the webs off of the wound, he saw it was worse than his initial assessment. 

“Holy wheezing shitballs. No wonder I won the race.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. We’ll have to have a rematch so I can surprise  _ you _ with ice cream.”

“Oh, babe, nothing would make me happier than you creaming me.”

“Shut up.” Peter swatted his arm with a grin.

Wade giggled and ran with awkward movements out of the room, returning a few moments later with a first-aid kit. He mumbled to himself while he cleaned the wound, but Peter didn’t pay attention to the words while the burning liquid covered his wound.

“You know, your healing factor is absolute shit.”

More burning, and Peter gripped the sheets with both hands. “Sorry we can’t all regrow limbs overnight like you can.”

“If only you were something cool, like Starfish-Man.” Wade pulled out a needle to stitch the wound shut, and Peter sucked in deep breaths to ready himself.

“Take that back. Spiders are very cool.”

“The ones like you, maybe.” He pushed the needle in, and Peter hissed. 

Wade’s brow was furrowed in concentration, and his hands moved smoothly in well-practiced motions. Peter focused on that instead of the sharp pain repeatedly waxing and waning. 

Before long, though it felt like far too long, it was over. Wade patted his leg and stood up from where he had been kneeling at the side of the bed.

“Thanks, man. That takes a lot longer when I’m doing it myself.”

“Anytime, boo. Somebody’s gotta make up for your shitty healing factor.”

“I thought it was good until I met you.” He still found it hard to believe that Wade was here, standing in front of him, when he had just been blown to bits a few days ago. He kept wanting to pinch himself to make sure it wasn’t another dream like the ones he had had for three days -- when he had dared to sleep, that is.

“At least you get to keep your sexy good looks.”

“Right, as if you didn’t,” Peter’s cursed mouth blurted. Oops.

Wade just stared at him for a long moment, leaving Peter’s words to hang in the air where they should never have been in the first place. 

He wanted to say something to cover them up but instead sat there like an idiot, staring back at Wade.

“It’s too late now. It’d just be awkward.” Wade scratched at his head. “Fine, fine.” He let out an awkward, forced chuckle. “Nice one, Spidey.”

Peter didn’t even know what to say to that. He didn’t want to make things any worse than they were after the mask incident, but judging from Wade’s shrunken-in posture, it seemed like he already had.

Before he could think of anything to say, Wade slid out of the room.

Peter fell back against the pillows and buried his face in his hands.

\---

Thanksgiving morning rolled around before Peter knew it, and he scrambled in his kitchen to put together the dishes he was responsible for. Once things were in the oven, he moved to set up the table and squeeze enough chairs into the space for everyone.

Someone knocked and, without waiting for a response, barged into his apartment. MJ grinned at him and held up two full bags. “I brought food and help.”

Another person walked in behind her and waved.

“This is Zoe. Zoe, this is Peter.”

They greeted each other and talked for a minute before moving into action to prepare for lunch.

By the time the other two arrived, Peter’s kitchen and table actually looked put together (though the same couldn’t be said for the rest of his apartment), and the food was done.

They all sat down and passed dishes around.

“So, Peter,” Zoe said, “you take pictures of Spider-Man for work?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Here came the inevitable question.

“Do you think you could introduce me?” There it was.

Peter shoved another bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth to give himself a moment’s time to stall. It was always awkward to have people want to meet him like he was some kind of celebrity. Not to mention, he also worried that people would connect the dots between Peter and Spider-Man. But a vague ‘yes’ had never gotten him in trouble before. Most people never brought it up again anyways. 

“Yeah, maybe. Sometime.”

Zoe smiled at him. “Cool. MJ talks about the stuff he does from time to time, and he seems really cool.”

Peter glanced at MJ, who smirked at her sweet potatoes. She tended to get more angry at Jameson’s bullcrap than even Peter himself did.

Peter cleared his throat. “Well, he tries his best.”

“And he does it. He’s great.” MJ shot him a pointed look.

“Yeah, he even stopped a train back when he was a new super,” Ned added.

Peter nudged Ned’s foot under the table to try and stop this conversation. They just babbled on while Peter sank lower and lower in his seat.

\---

After he cleaned up from the meal (mostly, at least), Peter swung back to Wade’s apartment and knocked on the door.

It swung open before he finished knocking, and Wade held his arms out wide. “Spidey! You made it. Come in, come in.”

Peter shuffled inside and felt the door close behind him. Wade pattered to the kitchen where Howie was sitting at the counter. They offered a short wave before turning back to whatever it was they were doing.

“Since I’m thankful to exist in a world with the goofosaurus that we call a ‘turkey,’ we are making hand turkeys.” Wade held up a crayon drawing of a rainbow turkey and wiggled it as if to tempt Peter. He nudged Howie, who glared at him but held up their work next to Wade’s.

It was a detailed painting of a Turkey being slaughtered by a wolf. It looked more like a real turkey than a hand turkey, though.

“Those look great.”

“Hell yeah, they do. They’re goofosauruses; what do you expect? I’m especially fond of pumpkin’s tasteful spurt of blood right there.” Wade pointed to the painting and said to Howie, “Yellow agrees.”

“You don’t think it needs more?” Howie re-examined their painting.

“It’s perfect, pumpkin pie. But a little more blood never hurt anyone.”

Peter tilted his head. “I’m pretty sure it has.”

Wade waved a hand dismissively before scribbling more on his paper with a red crayon. Peter had an idea of what he was adding.

When he took a seat at the counter, Howie pushed a piece of paper and a box of crayons to him. Peter sorted through colors and traced his hand.

Another paper was shoved under his nose by Wade, and he turned it over to find Spider-Man and Deadpool turkeys facing each other. Beneath them was a Doctor Doom turkey, all webbed-up. 

Peter grinned.

“Are you ever gonna get around to feeding me, or was that just a lie to get me here ‘cause you were bored?” Howie leaned back in their chair and crossed their arms.

“Fine. Bite my feeding hand, why don’t you.” Wade wandered to the fridge and pulled out a pumpkin pie. “Pumpkin pie for my pumpkin pie --” He slid it in front of a scowling Howie. “-- and cherry pie for the cherry of my eye.” He slid that one in front of Peter.

Wade handed them forks and then stabbed his own into the cherry pie to scoop out a bite from the middle.

Peter pushed the pie between them on the counter and scooped out a bite of his own with a smile that was beginning to make his cheeks ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! I hope you are all well.
> 
> I regret to say that I need to slow down my updates for the future. Not a whole lot, just a switch to every other week to give myself some time off between chapters. My mental health has been on the downhill tumble, as it were, so I need to just give myself some time to breathe for now. (Truly, I’ve been having more stomach aches than Chidi Anagonye in a Choose Your Own Adventure book, so the goal is less stomach aches for me, better writing for all of you.)
> 
> Some of you have told me you like the frequent updates, so I am sorry if this does disappoint anyone. Because of those (very kind) comments, I had planned to just push through for the rest of the story, but I have, unfortunately, hit my limit.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support so far. I do adore writing for all of you, and I hope you don’t mind that the updates will be slowing down a bit.
> 
> **In short, updates are every other week now.**
> 
> Next chapter: patrol, movie, moving
> 
> With love, as always,  
> Kenwick


	23. Big Moves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

For some reason, Spidey had decided to stick around Wade’s apartment. So many times and in so many places. But, despite the generous amounts of spider jizz he left in his trail, Wade was sure as hell not going to complain about him being there.

He was just so adorable lounging on Wade’s couch in Wade’s clothes and eating up all of Wade’s food. Now that Wade thought it about it, he was kind of stingy. Who had turned out to be the real stingy-ray, huh? Sure wasn’t Wade.

But he was smitten as a kitten with it. The sight of Spidey in Wade’s hoodie with his Deadpool logo just _did_ things to Wade’s libido. Specifically, it made it higher than hippies on Everest.

{To sum things up here, Spidey is more sexy than taco-shop alliteration.}

Exactly.

[Glad that’s summed up. Please move on. We haven’t unalived anyone in weeks. Now seems like a good time. Treat ourselves.]

“I don’t think Spidey would like that.”

“Like what?”

Wade jumped and whirled around. Spidey was back in his apartment again and back in his sweatshirt, too. Wade willed himself to calm down at that gorgeous sight. His libido would be a death of him. Maybe a few, even.

“Nothing, snookums. We were just talking about going out on patrol.”

Spidey perked up at that, standing up from his well-molded seat on the couch. “I _do_ like that idea, actually. Could I meet up with you after I finish this up?” He gestured to his techy setup in the seat next to his on the couch. It used to be Wade’s seat.

[Usurped by a computer. I always knew this would happen to us.]

{How the fuck would you know that?}

[It’s basic probability. Wade has become infatuated with a nerd. No nerd could possibly care more about us than computers. Not that anyone could really care about us in general.]

Wade had managed to gain some sort of thing with Spidey, though. He had a warm apartment and food, and he could keep up with Spidey on patrols. He did stuff, stayed useful, and Spidey stuck around. A symbiotic relationship.

[And what happens when our usefulness runs out? You can’t live in this fantasy world you’ve crafted forever, Wade.]

{It’s working so far. Just look at Spidey.}

The goofball was all teeth, speed-typing away at his computer like an innocent civilian’s life depended on it.

[He’s just excited for patrol. That has nothing to do with us.]

Wade strapped his usual arsenal to his suit and skipped toward his bedroom.

“Toodle-oo, boo.” With a wave to Spidey, he yanked open his window and jumped out. He landed butt side down, like a hot slice of bread, and picked himself back up to find some shit to unfuck-up.

\---

After a few daring and damn-near-heroic acts, Wade picked up the scent of food and decided the next act of damn-near heroism could wait.

He pulled a uey on the sidewalk to take off toward the source, through the crowd that parted while giving him sideways, judging glances.

{They wish they were us.}

[Nobody wishes that.]

Wade slid to a stop in front of a food truck selling po-boys and rubbed his hands together in delight. Once the line in front of Wade, barely distinguishable from the crowds of people on the sidewalk, worked their way up and away, Wade hopped to his place at the front and flashed a masked smile at the guy in the truck.

“Six roast beef, good sir.” Wade pulled out a handful of bills without bothering to check the numbers on them and thrust them out to the guy.

He flashed a smile back at Wade and turned around to pass on the order.

Wade bounced on his toes and hummed “Worth It” with Yellow while he waited for his order to get put together. White grumbled to himself, yet again griping about sharing headspace with Yellow. Wade hadn’t asked to have either of them in his head either, but did you hear him complaining?

[I heard that, dumbass.]

{Don’t have to be so rude about it, big guy.}

The guy held the sandwiches out the window, and Wade grabbed them to run off for more of his bona fide hero work. “When is work not improved by some hot, wrapped meat?”

{Ah, yeah. I love sucking down some hot, wrapped meat.}

[Oh, God. No. I hate you.]

{Do you know where my fucks went? ‘Cause I can’t find any to give.}

“Play nice. We need to be on the lookout for a chimichanga light shining in the sky.” Wade glanced up at the boringly blue sky in time to see Spidey coming down right on top of him.

Wade cradled his po-boys close to his heart to protect them as Spidey landed in front of him and stood up, dusting himself off. He held his arms out, like “Ta-da!” and looked at Wade with white lenses squinted in a smile.

Wade swallowed.

{Oh, yeah. We’re totally tits over dick for him.}

[I’m sorry, _what_?]

{Just spicing up boring expressions, as is my moral duty to society.}

[Please don’t.]

“I’m not tits over dick.” Wade’s heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it must be visible to the naked eye. Or a clothed one like Spidey’s, for that matter. “Ah, fuck me.” Wade’s grip on the sandwich tightened dangerously.

{It’s okay, big guy. Me, too.}

“No, thanks. We’re kind of busy right now, Wade. Patrol, remember?” Spidey chuckled and brought his arms back down to his legs with a pat.

“So you’re a kind of work-before-fun person, huh? I like to mash them together -- like I do most things. You know --” Wade counted off on his fingers. “-- Songs, foods, faces, junk --”

“I get the picture.”

Wade nodded.

Spidey perked up and glanced over Wade’s shoulder. Before Wade could ask for the breaking news, Spidey was hightailing it out of there like a dog after a squirrel army.

Wade ran after him, bobbling the po-boys in his arm to keep them from splatting to the ground as he went. He wouldn’t lose his casualty-free streak today.

By the time he caught up, Spidey had already webbed somebody to a wall, a situation Wade was familiar with.

{I wish I was the one who got caught stealing a wallet.}

“Don’t we all,” Wade sighed.

Spidey flipped open the wallet. “I think you picked the wrong pocket, dude. And I don’t just mean that ‘cause you got caught.” He showed the empty thing to the thief.

[Why would someone even carry that around?]

Maybe the thief had already pulled stuff from it.

{Ooh, I like where this is going. Finally something fun.}

Wade set the wrapped sandwiches against the wall, slipped out a knife, and marched up to the webbed thief. Once he made sure the glint of metal caught his eye, he leaned into his space and whispered, “Wanna tell me where the stuff is?”

His jaw flapped about pathetically as he stared at the knife. Wade moved it to his face so he could get a better look.

“I don’t have it. Please.”

The stench of piss reached Wade, and he rolled his eyes.

{Ugh. Is it on our suit?}

Wade inched his leg back just in case. Once he was out of the danger zone, he pressed the knife to Pisspocket’s cheek to make extra sure he got the message.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and Wade looked at it to find Spidey hovering in his space. 

“He doesn’t have the stuff.”

“Are you sure about that?” He pressed the knife further, and Pisspocket whimpered.

Spidey tugged lightly at his shoulder, pulling his arm back from Pisspocket’s face. “Even if he does, the police will find it and take care of it.”

[Spidey sure loves to suck the police’s dick. We can handle things ourself, right here, right now. We don’t need the police.]

{Yeah, forget the police. Kill this shitbag.}

The goal was information, not unaliving Pisspocket, even if he was a pathetic bastard. Wade slid the knife against his cheek just enough for blood to bead against it.

Spidey pulled his arm harder this time, and Pisspocket yelped as the knife slid off his face.

Wade hit the ground hard, and the breath rushed out of him.

{*Sigh.* Spidey, always leaving us breathless.}

With a cough, Wade sat up to glare at Spidey, who had placed himself between Wade and Pisspocket.

“Look, I’ll check his pockets, and then we can leave him for the cops to deal with. We have other people to help.” Spidey stuck his hand down Pisspocket’s pockets, and Wade once again wished he was the one who had been caught stealing a wallet.

“So it’s only you who can lay gentle hands on Pisspocket?”

He huffed a laugh. “The fact that you’ve come up with that name tells me you probably don’t want to be the one touching his pants right now.”

[He has a point there.]

Wade stuck out his tongue and crossed his arms while he waited for Spidey to finish up.

[Just in case we didn’t think you were a petulant child already.]

After a few moments, Spidey turned to Wade with empty hands held up to show him he hadn’t found anything. Figures. Of course Pisspocket would be a pisspoor thief who only stole empty wallets.

{Maybe he collects them.}

Wade gathered up the po-boys, glad that they had at least stayed warm while they wasted time with the shitbag. He played with the stuck-out edge of the foil on one of them. It was almost as shiny as Chrome-y Tony.

\---

The sun was already setting by the time Spidey crawled them up a building to sit and eat the sandwiches. Winter made plenty of time for fun nightly activities, like eating po-boys on roofs and swooshing through the dark like Batman.

{But Batman doesn’t have webs. He does have a cape. Should we get a cape?}

[It’s too much upkeep. We already have to deal with holes in the suit.]

Wade fiddled more with the foil while Spidey chowed down. By the time Spidey was tucking the last bite of his second po-boy in, Wade had finished a little foil spider to give to him. He wiggled it in the air in front of Spidey, who lifted it from Wade’s hand and examined it.

“Thanks.” Still staring at it, he set it down on his leg. “Do you want me to turn away for you to eat?”

“A little privacy would be appreciated, yeah.”

Spidey’s lips quirked. “Wouldn’t want me to die from your killer good looks, right?” His mouth snapped shut, and he turned away from Wade sharply.

Wade forced out a laugh and hoped it sounded at least half-normal. He had expected the mocking jokes ever since Spidey got a jumpscare shot of Wade’s face, and sure enough -- It had started when Wade fixed Spidey up from Doom. Talk about shitty timing. 

[Because other timing would be so great.]

And the jokes' shitty timing continued to ruin po-boys. Perfect. Wade was a big boy. He could handle it.

{Speaking of, let’s guzzle us some meat.}

[You disgust me.]

{And you’re glue.}

Spidey was still turned away, resting his head in his hands while he waited patiently for Wade to do his thing.

[You’re so high-maintenance.]

{You’re one to talk.}

Wade lifted his mask and stuffed the sandwich in his mouth while keeping all two eyes on Spidey. 

The po-boy had cooled down from the frigid air, which made it taste sad. At least for a food-truck po-boy, which was not too terribly sad. More like spilled-milk level than Mufasa’s-death level.

{In any case, tears have been shed.}

“Don’t be getting our sandwich soggy now.” That would bring it too close to Mufasa’s death than comfortable. Cold and soggy were two hits that Wade did not care for after the number Spidey did on him.

He bit off another chunk of the cold po-boy.

\---

After more of Spidey’s hilarious mockery and a night full of mares, Wade slipped his feet into his rubber, masturbating shoes and plodded down the hall to find his favorite set of throwing knives to throw at something. Probably Francis’ stupid face again.

{Maybe throw them into your own stupid face. Can’t make it any worse than it is.}

Wade shouted and shot a bullet down the hall, through the dart board.The sound of the shot rushed through him and calmed his mind fuzz a bit.

The door to the bathroom flew open in front of him and out flopped Spidey.

Except, his upper half, including his whole face, the full pizza pie, was on display. And he was just a normal-looking guy. A normal-looking, beautiful, adorable guy who Wade very much wanted to stare at for hours.

[Stop looking at him. That’s his face.]

{You know how he “understands secret identities.”}

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait.

Wait.

[Get to the fucking point.]

Wait.

[Oh my fuck.]

This was the camera guy -- Peter. The one who had turned up at the grocery store and acted like he was straight out of Funkytown. 

Peter stumbled to Wade, looking over him wildly. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t slam the alarm and fall into a major panic like Wade expected.

[Seriously. Stop looking. Have some modicum of respect.]

“Shit.” Wade slapped his hands over his eyes and twirled away from Peter. No, from Spidey. Damn it. He had to forget.

{Maybe scramble up some brains. One quick shot -- Boom. We’d be back before long.}

[Why would that work? We’ve never forgotten anything from dying before.]

“We wouldn’t remember if we had.”

[. . . You have me there.]

“Are you okay?” Spidey was grabbing at his shoulder trying to get his attention, but Wade wanted to run, or scream, or _something_. He really was wanting that picture of Francis’ dumb mug right about now. If he was about to lose Spidey, he at least wanted somebody to stab for it.

[I approve of choosing Francis. He has a very stabbable face.]

{We know from experience.}

“Wade, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, fine.” Wade sounded like he had been huffing helium for the past two decades. “But, Spidey, you’re indecent.”

The hand on his shoulder retreated. “Shit,” he said, echoing Wade’s earlier sentiment now that he had finally caught up to what was happening.

{*Gasp.* We have corrupted our innocent spider’s language.}

[There’s a lot we can be blamed for, but I don’t think this is one of those things.]

There were no thumping footsteps fleeing the scene. There was no sound at all, except for some quiet rustling behind Wade.

“Shit.” 

The door squeaked.

Spidey cleared his throat behind Wade. Wade squished the heels of his hands further into his eyes, trying to squeeze out the image and make them forget.

[That’s a wonderful plan because that’s totally how eyes work.]

“So, did you -- I’m guessing you saw.”

{Don’t tell him. He’ll run away again.}

Wade squished more. “Got a mental photograph, but I’ll just destroy it. Gimme five minutes, babe.”

[We will need an extra hour to re-alive.]

“Fine, an hour and five minutes.”

“No, it’s --” Spidey took a shaky breath. “It’s okay. With all the time I’ve spent here, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Sorry it wasn’t later.” Though it didn't even have to be ever. Wade fucked it up for Spidey.

“I’m not.”

Wade barely stopped himself from whipping around in response to that. He wanted to give Spidey his best chance to change his mind. That meant no more peeking, even though the view was very peekable right now.

“It’ll make being here a lot easier without having to worry about my mask slipping off, or forgetting my mask, or whatever.”

[What happened to “understanding secret identities?”]

{Trust happened. Catch me, White; my heart can’t handle it, and I'm falling hard.}

[Go fuck yourself.]

{If I get a concussion, it’s all your fault.}

[With the way you talk, I’d have thought you’re already concussed.]

“Truce, everybody. We need to pay attention.” Keeping his hands squished over his eyes, Wade turned around slowly to face Spidey. “So you aren’t gonna wear your mask?”

“Not always anymore. I mean -- if you’re okay with that.”

“Well, sure. Now we can have official staring contests.”

[You’re going to unmask?]

“Half-official, I guess.” Wade slid his hands further down his face and peeked between his fingers, watching Spidey’s reaction.

He seemed surprisingly calm about the whole thing, more calm than Wade even thought it was his identity on the line. Not that Wade would do anything with it, but he _could_ , and that should have terrified Spidey.

Instead, he just flashed a crooked, dorky smile at Wade as he peeked at him. And now that Wade could see his eyes crinkle up with it, he was done for.

“Plus, I can glare at you for real now when you steal the bathroom.”

“It’s _my_ bathroom. How could I steal it?”

Spidey’s eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed. Wade thought it was supposed to be a glare, but it looked more like a pout.

“The mask is way more intimidating. You just look like a sour cinnamon roll.”

The smile returned in an instant, and really, that was what could get Spidey anything he wanted, not the glare. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

\---

The next few weeks involved a lot of patrolling and a lot of jacking off. Not that that would make it any different than most of Wade’s weeks, but having a maskless Spidey wandering about his apartment did make it different. So wonderfully different.

[I’ve had enough of your pining.]

{Make it double.}

[Oh, dear God.]

Spidey hadn’t shared his name with Wade, but he didn’t know if it was because he assumed Wade recognized him or because he didn’t want him to know. He had stuck to pet names for the time being, not knowing how to wiggle his way into that topic of conversation.

[Smash into it like you do everything. Might as well.]

Spidey sat on the couch next to Wade with the bowl of popcorn he had popped while Wade set up the blankets and tv to watch _Golden Girls_. Luckily, Spidey didn’t limit himself to only the nerd realm of _Star Trek_ and also enjoyed watching a timeless masterpiece with Wade.

Spidey was extra fidgety next to Wade and wasn’t even munching on the popcorn. He opened his mouth multiple times as if to say something before clamping it shut again.

After what appeared to be much painful deliberation, he asked, “Do you wanna go to a movie with my friends and me tomorrow?”

Wade gracefully choked on his popcorn. “You have friends?”

He shot Wade an unamused look.

Beyond mentioning his girlfriend once and his aunt a couple times, Spidey hadn’t shared any details of his personal life with Wade. But here he was, inviting Wade to meet these people. He was probably sleep-deprived once again.

“The movie involves a bunch of guns, so I thought you would like it.”

{Ooh, that is tempting. I vote we go.}

[Why go when we can stay here?]

Wade tapped his fingers together. Candy, guns, and Spidey were a recipe for good times. But throw in Spidey’s friends, and it was like adding salt to sugar cookies. Yes, it was dangerous territory to walk into and could very easily be too much and ruin the whole thing. On the other hand, it might make the experience even sweeter.

And Wade sure as fuck knew how to add the right amount of salt to make things sweet.

“You’ve convinced me. I’ll go to the gun show with you and your friends, even though I give you one every day already.”

Spidey slumped a bit, relaxing into the sofa. Another smile tugged at his mouth.

It made it worth it.

  
  


\---

Peter scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking between Wade and the ground. “One of my friends doesn’t know about the whole --” Spidey lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper even though he was alone with Wade in the apartment. “-- Spider-Man thing.”

Wade nodded sagely. He kind of understood secret identities.

“So if you could go in civvies, it would raise less questions.”

Wade stiffened, and Spidey rushed to continue.

“You don’t have to, of course. It’s up to you. I know you can get uncomfortable, and I don’t want to push you. But my friends would never make fun of you or judge you.”

[Maybe he could learn a thing or two from them.]

{We are great joke material, though. We make it so easy.}

Wade sucked in a breath. The picture of Spidey stumbling away from him, gagging, kept repeating through his thoughts, parading over his self-esteem and stomping it to bits.

{At least it was a parade that did it in. Of all the ways to go, that’s a good one.}

“I don’t think I can do that, snookums.”

Spidey nodded quickly but had a little frown crossing his face. “Yeah, of course. That’s okay. Whenever you’re ready to go, then.”

Wade popped on a pair of 3D glasses. “Oh, I’m ready.”

\---

“Friends” turned out to be two friends named MJ and Zoe, with only five letters between the two of them. 

Spidey said their names to Wade as they walked up to where they were standing in front of the cinema. Before he could introduce Wade to them, the one he called Zoe gasped and said, “Oh, my God. Spider-Man?”

And she wasn’t looking at Spidey.

Spidey was already opening his mouth to say something totally unfun, so Wade popped in before he could, with a grin stretched across his face. 

“The one and only. The friendly and neighborhoodly.” Wade struck a heroic pose.

“It’s so great to meet you. I can’t believe Peter already worked it out for us to meet. You’re so cool.”

{Hell yeah, Spidey is! Zoe knows what’s up.}

Wade grinned wider when Spidey directed a pout-glare his way. “The coolest. Ice has nothing on me.” He received an elbow to the ribs. “Uh, I mean, I just do it for the people. You know, say ‘nay’ to neighborhood crimes and all that.”

Zoe blinked while MJ held back laughter.

Spidey grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the cinema doors. “We don’t want to be late for the movie.”

They moved their way through lines to get tickets and enough sugar and fat to appease Wade through the movie, plus some more for the rest of the group. Wade paid, all too eager to put out the kindly Spidey vibe in his impromptu improv.

[Now that just seems redundant.]

{But it sounds real nice.}

[Fair. Still pointless.]

Wade settled into his seat and stuffed boxes and drinks into available crevices. Spidey watched his struggle without offering any aid. Only a hero until the suit came off.

{Take that back, big guy.}

Fine, he was a hero bare-ass naked, too.

The ads were mildly interesting, but Wade concerned himself with his stash of candy while they rolled. The big screen lit up the room more than at Wade’s apartment, but the light was still dim, and Spidey was weirdly invested in the ads and trailers. So Wade enjoyed his snacks.

{A snack surrounded by snacks. This is why I love movie theatres.}

[Two snack surrounded.]

{Yes, White. Yes.}

The movie started soon enough, but whenever the gunfire stalled, Wade found his attention drawn to Spidey within moments. He chewed furiously on popcorn while remaining laser-focused on the movie playing across the huge screen. It was way more entertaining than the movie was.

Before he knew it, the end credits were rolling, and Spidey was gathering up boxes of Wade’s candy to take out. Wade shook himself out of his daze and gathered up the rest of his stuff while MJ and Zoe chatted about the movie and Spidey laughed along with them.

They walked out into the cold air, and Spidey huddled in on himself and inched closer to Wade. Wade happily obliged by wrapping an arm around the shivering spider’s shoulders.

“It was great to meet you, Spider-Man. We should do this again sometime, if you and Peter are available soon.”

“Of course. I heart New York and all its civilians, so I’d be happy to.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zoe squinted and gave a short nod.

“Yeah, it was good to see you again, _Spider-Man_. Love the costume change,” MJ said with a smirk.

“Thank you, kind civilian.”

Zoe waved goodbye and walked off, hand in hand with MJ.

As soon as they had turned away, Spidey was pout-glaring up at Wade again.

{Adorable cinnamon roll.}

[He could kill us easily.]

{Oh, my God. Stop teasing, White. You know how that gets me going.}

[Everything gets you going.]

Wade squished Spidey’s cheek and was surprisingly not batted away. “Oh, calm down. I only borrowed your identity. I fully intend to return it to you.”

“If you don’t, I will steal it right back.”

“Again, I _borrowed_ it.”

“I expect payment for the rental, then.” 

{I can think of a few ways we could pay him.}

[I don’t even need to hear them to say “no” to all of them.]

Spidey walked forward, and Wade followed after. “Do you mind if we stop by my place then go back to yours for the night?”

“Not at all, boo. I won’t complain if you keep me up all night.”

“I would complain.” He turned down a street and walked toward a building.

Wade followed close behind, eager to see Spidey’s habitat before he started taking over Wade’s.

They went up a rickety death-trap of an elevator to reach a rickety death-trap of a cage that Spidey apparently labelled ‘home.’ It was filled with trash cramped into the tight room along with a few stray pieces of furniture and a kitchen that was really nothing more than a child’s playhouse kitchen.

Spidey tossed his keys into a bowl and turned on a dim light. “Sorry for the mess.”

“You live here?” Wade looked around the room with a frown. It was a dump. Spidey deserved better. “Why don’t you just move into my place? You’ve basically done it already, might as well make it official.”

Spidey stopped in the middle of the room with his back turned to Wade and shifted from foot to foot. “What’s the rent?”

“This can just be my way of paying for the identity rental. Plus, somebody’s gotta eat all my pancakes. It’s good to have you around.” Wade bounced on his toes at the idea, hoping Spidey would bite.

Spidey turned to face him and shrugged. “Sure. For the pancakes.”

“Of course.” Wade grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me and just became pure pining and po-boys. Good times.  
> Thanks so much, everyone, for your patience and support!
> 
> Next chapter: side-effects may include, Howie returns, holiday plans
> 
> Thankfully yours,  
> Kenwick


	24. New Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: N/A

Peter had gotten used to being in Wade’s apartment and their nightly patrols together. He had also gotten used to Howie stopping by the apartment every few days. That was fine. Even if they did sit by Wade and hang out with him for hours while he thought up dozens of cute, pumpkin-themed monikers to call them.

It was nothing to be upset about. Peter didn’t know why he had to keep reminding himself that.

Point being, carrying boxes of Peter’s stuff into the guest bedroom that had basically been his for weeks felt like the obvious next step. He hadn’t expected the offer from Wade, but it felt nice to officially have a place in his apartment. Without his identity to hide anymore, it was an easy enough decision. It still made his stomach turn a bit.

Peter carried in a pile of the boxes Wade had helped him pack. They teetered and leaned like the Tower of Pisa as he crouched with them to fit under the doorframe into the guest bedroom -- now Peter’s bedroom. Wade followed behind him with another towering stack, albeit shorter than Peter’s.

Peter sorted the boxes and distributed them to various places in the room while Wade dropped his stack in the middle of the floor and stretched, reaching up with both hands. Peter’s eyes flicked to him as he pushed a couple boxes to the closet.

Wade was fucking ripped. Which really only mattered because it meant he was an efficient moving partner. It just meant he could carry more boxes. Peter allowed himself one more glance before going back to pushing boxes around.

Once he set the final stack of boxes at the foot of the bed, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress and sighed. It had been too long since he had gotten a good night’s rest. Nightmares scattered his sleep schedule, preventing him from getting the sweet REM stages he longed for.

Wade flopped onto the bed next to Peter, with usual abandon, bouncing him up. 

Peter forced open his eyes and turned to see Wade grinning at him through the mask, propped up on one elbow. He blinked a couple times and grinned back. “And they were _roommates_.”

“Oh, my God. They were roommates,” Wade responded easily.

Peter let his eyes drift back closed as he sunk into the mattress that was way cushier than the pack of springs at his old apartment. He wouldn’t miss the old one.

“No, Spidey, you can’t go to sleep now. You’ve gotta wipe my ass in Mario Kart to christen our new arrangement. It’s tradition.”

“Wipe your own ass, Wade.”

“I can’t throw red shells at myself. And even if I could, it’s not the same as when you throw them.”

“Why can’t we just do something easier, like you carry me over the awning and let me get me some sleep?”

“Spidey,” Wade whined.

“Fine, I’ll whoop you with red shells and my superior driving skills _if you insist_.” Peter finally rolled his weary body off the bed and shuffled to the living room to wrap himself in a blanket while Wade bounced in to set up the game.

While Peter clicked through the game menu, Wade ran into the other room, probably for the crown he wore while playing to match his Princess Peach character.

When he returned, Peter did not exactly “wipe Wade’s ass.” He more just careened off cliffs and shot shells in all directions. Still, he managed to pull a shaky third place finish in the first match.

Wade didn’t seem to mind, wiggling happily in his seat, shouting obscenities at the computers, and creating his own sound effects in addition to the game's. He had even made himself a bowl of popcorn to much on between games, leaving his mask up to eat.

Peter had discovered since their first movie night that Wade was willing to lift his mask in the dark, when he thought Peter couldn’t see. Peter could see as well in the dark as in the middle of the afternoon, but he hadn’t told Wade that. Not that he ever looked when Wade had his mask up -- He knew that Wade wasn't comfortable with that. Still, he selfishly liked that Wade finally felt comfortable enough to eat around him, even in just in the dark, and didn’t want to ruin it.

But he also felt like he owed it to Wade to let him know.

Not today, though. He could already feel himself drifting off as the second race finished, and a cheering Lakitu waved him into sleep.

\---

The boom sent trembles through the ground, knocking Peter off his feet. He stood up and raced toward the building, but it only shrunk into the distance. A hand held him back by his ankle, tripping him. He turned around and scrambled away from the face in front of him. She was dripping black venom and crying blood-red tears.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

He reached out toward her, trying to hold her close to warm her. “I tried!” he sobbed, “I wanted to.”

“You failed,” she hissed. Her body went limp, and she tumbled out of Peter’s arms into the ground, which swallowed her.

Another voice spoke from behind him. “You need to try harder.” 

Gwen. 

Peter looked up at her with tears blurring his vision. Her back was broken, leaving her standing at an odd angle.

“What’s the point of a hero who can’t save anyone?” Peter flinched when the third person spoke. He whirled around again and looked down at Deadpool. His blood was pouring out in all directions, soaking into the grass and spilling toward Peter’s hands. Deadpool collapsed, the tiny vibrations of a heartbeat no longer tangible.

Peter closed his eyes and clawed at the ground to fight to keep the sensation. “No!”

“Spidey!”

His eyes flew open and he gulped deep breaths. His hands were clutching something, and one of his legs was pinned awkwardly underneath him. It had fallen asleep and was prickling. He shifted at the discomfort.

“Spidey. Wake up, babe.” Deadpool’s voice rumbled against his head. 

He greedily absorbed the vibrations it created in his head and hands. Looking down, he realized his hands were grasping at Deadpool’s suit, gripping handfuls of cloth.

He pulled back, sitting in his own space. “I’m sorry,” he spluttered.

“It’s alright. Are you okay?” Deadpool leaned toward him, brow furrowed in concern.

He took a moment to steady his breath and clamp down on his senses, which were still screaming at him from the nightmare. “You died. They all died.”

Deadpool hummed and nodded. “Well, I’m here, and I’m fit as a fiddle.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about it?” He made a face to his side and looked like he was listening to the esports commentators again.

Peter shook his head.

“Do you want to cuddle about it?” he offered in the same, soft tone.

After a beat, Peter nodded.

Holding out his arms wide, Wade stayed quiet and smiling while he seemed to wait for Peter to move toward him. Peter wrung his hands and waited only a moment before practically launching himself at Wade, gripping for something solid to hold on to while everything else rushed around him and made him feel unsteady.

He let the movements of Wade’s chest from his breaths and the beat of his heart anchor him, steadying the world so it stopped rushing by so fast.

It slowed around them, falling in line with Wade’s steady presence. Peter noticed that he was slowing down, too, even though he hadn’t noticed his own heart and head rushing with the world.

After everything slowed, it faded and softened around them, leaving only Wade cooing soft things into his ear.

Before long, Peter felt his eyelids drooping again and struggled to keep them open, blinking hard against sleep. Wade continuing to rub his back and murmur did not help Peter fight his battle to stay awake, and he drifted off again.

\---

A sharp buzz against his side woke him up. He blinked against the harsh sunlight and dug through his pockets to find the phone. Without waiting to check the caller ID, he jabbed the answer button. 

“Hello,” he coughed.

“Hey, kid. You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just woke up,” Peter yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

A pause. “It’s noon.”

Peter made a noncommittal noise and glanced out the window.

“Well, anyway, are you free to come to the Tower today?”

“Sure, yeah. What’s up?”

“We’ll talk when you get here -- And come suited up.”

“Okay, be there soon.” Peter hung up and stumbled into the guest room littered with boxes, tearing them open to find clothes. He slipped into his Spidey suit and tugged a hoodie and sweatpants over the top to add extra warmth. Even with the built-in heater in his suit, the chill that had set in the air set into his joints from time to time while he tried to work as Spider-Man.

He could hear Wade snoring from his room and decided not to bother him, instead leaving a sticky note to tell him where he went and stuck one of Wade’s favorite unicorn stickers on it.

He stepped out onto the fire escape and swung his way through the frigid wind to Stark Tower.

\---

Walking into the lab Tony typically met him in, Peter was met by Tony and Bruce, who had returned that week from his work in Brazil. Howie entered the room a few minutes later, while Peter and Bruce were catching up.

“Spider-Man.” They nodded.

Peter nodded back, unsure why Howie remained aloof toward him even with how long he had been at Wade’s apartment and played card games with Howie and Wade.

“Dr. Banner’s been helping us with the antidote for the venom the mutates have been producing. He also made us a cream to help with the oily skin.” Howie sat on a stool and spun it back and forth while they spoke.

Bruce cleared his throat and nodded. “I got to work as soon as I got back. The antivenom you had was already working great; I just made a few minor adjustments.”

“Well, that’s great.” Peter grinned at Bruce before turning back to Howie. “Is there anything else we can do?”

Howie turned to Bruce with raised eyebrows.

“They asked for something to dissolve webs. I know you already have a solvent you use, so I figured it’d be easiest to just ask for that.”

“Yeah, sure, I can give you the formula, and we can get to work on making more.” Peter moved further into the lab, eager to have the chance to work with Bruce again. He had been busy lately, and Peter had missed their late nights bouncing ideas off each other and testing them.

“I’ve gotta go meet up with Pepper,” Tony said, “but I wanted to let you know something before I go.” He looked at Peter with a pointed look, but Peter wasn’t sure what it meant.

Howie walked out of the room with a casual wave. Peter waved back.

“We’ve cleared your aunt to move freely again, and to talk to you freely. No more security beyond the basics. You can visit her over the holidays if you want.”

He was already nodding frantically before Tony finished his sentence. “It’s safe? She can move back?”

“Yep.”

Peter almost sank to his knees. He’d still keep an eye on May, of course, not wanting to risk anything happening to her. But he could see her again. She would be moving back to Queens. He could finally spend time with her without worrying about the people stationed around her house bursting in at the slightest hint of what they thought could be danger.

She had reassured Peter that she didn’t mind the situation, but he knew she didn’t like it. He didn’t like it either, but all that mattered was that May was safe from the dangers Spider-Man had brought.

Peter would make sure it stayed that way.

“Thank you, Tony. I’ve gotta go. Bruce, can we work on this tomorrow?”

Bruce gave him a thumbs up, and Peter scribbled a formula down on a spare notebook for him to use before running out of the tower and back home as fast as his webs could carry him.

“Wade, Wade,” he gasped, climbing through the window.

Wade and Howie looked up at him from the floor, and Wade grinned wide enough Peter thought it would split his mask. He set down his hand of cards and leapt up. “Spidey! Wanna play Go Fish with us? Howie hasn’t even noticed I’m cheating. They’re gonna be so surprised when they wind up with all three old maids.”

Howie smirked and pulled a card from their sleeve just enough that Peter could see before sliding it back in.

“We can deal you in next game,” Wade added, waving him over.

“Ah, no deal. I’ve gotta call someone. I’ll join you later.”

“M’kay. Bye, boo.” He waggled his fingers at Peter without breaking his intense focus on the cards. 

Howie slipped a few more cards out of their sleeve while Wade’s focus was on his hand.

Peter pulled the door shut and clicked his phone to call May. The phone ringed an unbearable two times before May picked it up, and Peter heard her “hello” filter through the phone. The sound brought a smile to his face, so wide it hurt.

“May.”

“Peter! It’s good to hear from you. Have you been doing alright? Taking care of yourself? Has MJ bothered you into cleaning your apartment this month?”

Peter sank onto the side of his bed and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been good. I actually left -- Well, I moved into a friend’s apartment.”

“A friend?” Her voice held a bright curiosity.

“Yeah, his name is Wade. I just moved in yesterday.” Peter gnawed on his lip and looked at the door to the living room. He could hear them shouting and muttering as they played. Someone smacked their hand down on the floor.

“I’m glad you met someone, dear. MJ’s too busy these days.”

“We’ve still been hanging out. And she enjoys her work. She’s been doing great.”

May hummed softly. 

“Tony just told me that they’ve cleared the situation.”

“I figured. I just got the news this morning.”

Wade shouted in the other room. “That’s impossible. I only had three aces in the deck!” He laughed at something, and Peter’s stomach clenched.

“I have things all set up for you to come over for Hanukkah. Maybe you could bring your friend, too, so I could meet him.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the door again. He didn’t know how to explain Wade’s Deadpool suit to May when he had already come so close to losing his Spider-Man secret earlier. 

When May was attacked, Peter had claimed it was because of his connection to Spider-Man as a photographer. Keeping Spider-Man separate from May was necessary to keep her safe in the future. He couldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Of course he’ll come.” May’s voice was final. “It’s been too long since I’ve been able to meet a new friend of yours.”

“I guess I’ll see if he’s free.” Maybe he could explain the suit as Deadpool being a friend of Spider-Man, but May would wonder why Spider-Man hadn’t come as well. He fell back on his bed.

“Wonderful! That’s a dear. Don’t forget to bring your coat so you don’t catch cold. I’ll have wheat cakes ready when you get here.”

“Thanks, May. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, dear. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.” Peter hung up with a smile still plastered across his face, despite the fear nagging at the back of his mind.

He didn’t want to get May mixed up in any more trouble just as soon as she had left it.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed and walked into the living room, rubbing at his face.

“You could be the three in my pocket any day of the weekend, pumpkin.” Wade clasped his hands together and held them by his face.

“I will not.”

The hands moved to Wade’s chest instead as he fell back, clutching at his heart. “You wound me. I thought you loved me.”

Howie rolled their eyes and shuffled the Hello-Kitty-themed deck, glancing up as Peter walked in.

“Spidey! You’re back. Now we can play Exploding Kittens.” Wade leapt up, recovering quickly from his proclaimed wounds, and raced to his room.

Peter took a seat between where Howie was sitting and where Wade had been sitting across from them. Howie ran their tongue over their teeth and looked over Peter like they were sizing him up.

He tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

Howie shuffled the deck harshly, the cards beating together with a smack. “You gotta stop with the evil eye every time Wade talks to me.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“I’ll stay outta your shit, cool? Wade and I've been pals awhile, but you got nothing to worry about from me. I mean, as long as you don’t hurt him. Hurt him, and I fuck you up twice over.”

Peter's mind was still trying to catch up with "evil eye" while Howie continued on, and he raced to figure out what was happening. “I don’t -- I’d never hurt him, but what --”

Wade barrelled back into the room, holding Exploding Kittens high above his head. “I got it.”

Howie took the box from Wade and started setting up the game. “Let’s see you cheat your way out of this one.”

“Oh, believe me, you won’t see.” Wade grabbed his hand and wiggled in his spot with a wink at Peter.

“I’ll have you know I can sense cheating,” Peter said.

“That sounds like a lie. I think you're lying to me.” 

Peter shrugged, hiding his smile behind the cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing is... fighting me here. But I am back! With more holidays coming!
> 
> Next chapter: mask on mask off, a spoonful of sugar, meeting the parent
> 
> Still yours,  
> Kenwick


	25. Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, homophobia, emetophobia

“Hanukkah? With your aunt?” 

Spidey scratched at his head, still not meeting Wade’s eyes. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”

Wade couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The friends thing had already been surprise enough for his heart, but this? Holidays and aunts? It felt too close to family than made any fucking sense.

{I think it’s just pity, but I’ll take it.}

“Spidey, I’m not a meet-the-parents kind of guy. Parents hate me. Wait, that sounds worse than I meant it to. Everyone hates me. It’s nothing about parents specifically. But, like, it kind of is? Parents? No. We’re like the kind of magnets that repel each other. It’s just not meant to be.” Even with his own parents it was the case. Wade hadn’t had too many chances with other parents, but the trend remained true where he had.

“Parent’s sibling, really. And she’s not much of a meet-the-friends type parent’s sibling. Mostly because there haven’t been many to meet, but you know.” He shrugged again, cracking a lopsided smile that made Wade crack.

{Like an egg. Fragile and runny.}

[Soft-boiled.]

{White.}

[Sticky.]

“I don’t like where this conversation is going.” Wade tried to shake images of sticky eggs out of his mind to return to what Spidey was saying.

“Commentators?”

Wade nodded. “Failing at their jobs, as usual. They don’t get paid, though, so it all works out.”

{Oh, damn. I should get paid for this shit. I liven up conversations. I’m the fucking comic-relief, baby.}

“Maybe they’d do better commenting if you paid them.” Spidey smiled at him, the little shit. Taking sides.

{Hell yeah! He’s on my side! Pay me, big guy.}

“I don’t want to encourage them.”

Spidey sat in his desk chair and whirled back and forth a bit. “I’m sure they’re invited, too. If they behave.”

{I’ll behave! I can be so good.}

[I make no promises.]

“They’d just invite themselves anyway.” Wade sat on the edge of the bed next to the chair, watching as Spidey’s knees passed by his, almost touching with each turn.

[I wish I had a choice in the matter. I’m stuck in this life, dragged along everywhere by you.]

“So you’re all invited.” He fiddled with a little bobblehead Spidey on his desk -- Wade’s housewarming gift to him.

What the hell. Whoever raised Spidey was sure to be at least 3% as good as him. That was just basic scientific fact.

[It is not.]

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Peter turned to Wade with his lips parted slightly in surprise.

“And by ‘do it,’ I mean Hanukkah. But if you want to do _it_ , too, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You want to do it?”

“Obviously.” Wade threw up his hands. Because _duh_. 

{Seriously. Duh.}

Spidey held the bridge of his nose as the tips of his ears reddened. “No, Wade, I meant Hanukkah.”

“Oh. That is also what I meant. Hanukkah. We’re on the same brainwave right now, Spidey. I can practically feel your Spidey senses right now. Got me all tingly. And, like, Hanukkah? Obviously. We’re on the same line of the same page.”

Spidey released his hostage nose, and his lips quirked. “Right.”

“So, your aunt, huh? Does she know about your nighttime activities?”

Peter pulled a face.

“I meant being Spidey. Get your mind out of the gutter. We spent long enough there with Romanoff.”

[That was the sewer.]

{I didn’t know there was a difference.}

[The difference is Wade is always in the gutter but rarely in the sewer.]

“That’s fair but hurtful.”

Spidey shifted in his chair. “I was gonna bring that up, actually. I don’t want May getting caught up in all the Spider-Man stuff. We’ve already had a close call, and --” He cleared his throat. “Is there any way you’d be willing to go without the Deadpool suit?”

Oh, shit. Not that again. Wade willed his face into a smile. “You want me in my birthday suit instead? I mean, I don’t blame you, but I don’t think that’s really the right direction to go if I’m trying to make a good impression on your aunt.”

Something crossed Spidey’s face that Wade couldn’t read. Within an instant, he had shaken it off and gone back to bobbling the bobblehead Spidey. “Yeah, let’s pass on that idea for this trip. I was more thinking along the line of sweaters and pants. Sweater-pants if you really want to spice things up.”

“Those are just called sweatpants, and no one in history has called them spicy.” Wade patted his thighs and watched the Spidey bobble. 

[Stop stalling, coward.]

{Yeah. ♪ _You gotta kiss the girl. ._.♪}

“I’ll wear sweatpants if you wear tights.”

Spidey laughed at the very-much-not-a-joke. Damn.

{Worth a shot.}

[You see him in spandex almost daily anyways.]

“You’re right. I should have gone with booty shorts.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to wear.” Peter smirked and got up from his chair to stretch.

This whole conversation was very unfair. And civvies were a giant fucking pill to swallow. He needed a heaping tablespoon of sugar to get that nasty medicine down.

\---

Wade fiddled with the handle of a knife as he walked, itching to stick it in some wandering douchebag who was in the wrong place and time, which was just perfectly right for them.

[I’m glad you’ve come back to your senses, Wade. It’s been too long.]

{I could go for a round of pin the knife in the pedo.}

Some wandering douchebag wandered right out into Wade’s path tugging on a girl’s arm as she stumbled after him, and Wade practically buzzed.

{Maybe that’s what Spidey’s spidey sense is like.}

“I still don’t understand how he caught me switching cards. It’s just not fair.”

The wandering douchebag eyed him with a sneer. “Fuck off, freak.”

“Oh, so rude,” Wade gasped, covering his mouth with a hand, “You didn’t say ‘please.’”

The girl stepped to side, still held in place by Wandering Douche’s white-knuckled grip.

“I bet you didn’t say please to her either. And, double or nothing, she’s probably not thanking you.” Wade’s eyes narrowed and his hand twitched over a gun. Turning to the girl, he continued, “Are you okay with this?” He pointed between the two of them.

She looked at Wandering Douche before her eyes flicked back to Wade and she shook her head with wide, round eyes. 

{Like saucers, as they say.}

[Who is ‘they?’]

{You know. . . _they_.}

At the same time she shook her head, Wandering Douche tried nodding his way out of it, and his grip tightened further on her arm. She winced, and ice-cold anger washed over Wade.

He clapped his hands together cheerily. “That’s a no. So how about I break this up and send you off to finishing school so you can learn to not be such a mannerless dolphin douchebag.”

“What the fuck, dude? Get out of here. I’m just helping her home.”

[Wowww. What a fucking gentleman.]

“No, you’re not. Scurry off.” Wade shooed him with his hand rather than blowing his brains out. For now. Maybe Spidey was rubbing off on him more than he thought.

{Ay-o!}

Wandering Douche’s eyes flicked to the katanas, and his throat bobbed. His eyes flashed back to the whites of Wade’s mask, and his grasp tightened. 

The girl shuffled in place, tugging lightly at his hold.

“Simon says fuck off,” Wade cooed between clenched teeth. “You have about ten seconds before we switch games and start playing Murder in the Dark.”

He took a step back but didn’t let go.

[Five seconds.]

Wade crossed his arms. “Three.”

His hand withdrew, and he stumbled backward into a run.

“Two, one,” Wade rushed before flinging a knife at Wandering Douche’s thigh. He went down with a pathetic scream.

Wade rolled his eyes.

Rubbing at her arm, the girl stumbled back into a wall and pressed against it.

Wandering Douche stared up at Wade with wide eyes, dragging himself backwards over rough asphalt. He whimpered pleas that Wade ignored.

Wade grabbed his arm tight and yanked him up while Wandering Douche clawed at his arm, trying to escape. Wade grinned and winked before launching a fist into the shitbag’s face and letting him fall to bleed over the filthy ground.

[How about a bullet to remember us by?]

Wade’s fingers trailed over the gun. 

{When I find myself in these situations. . . I just think to myself, ‘What would Spidey do?’}

[Thank you for your profound words of wisdom.]

{Aw, it’s nothing, you big sweetheart.}

“What would Spidey do with a dash of Deadpool?” Wade flipped the safety and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Douche’s hand.

He screamed, predictably.

“A little something to remember her by,” Wade said sweetly before walking over Douche’s legs to return to the girl. He put up his weapons and held out empty hands palm-out to her.

[You are basically dripping weapons.]

“We’ve been over this. I drip weapons and charisma, sure, but the empty hands show I’m not reaching for either of my deadliest assets.”

Her wide eyes were stuck on Wandering Douchebag anyway. Her chest was heaving, and her breaths were hitched.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. Forget that fucker. Look here.”

[Because we’re a _much_ better sight.]

{People would probably pay to see us at the circus.}

“They couldn’t pay us enough,” Wade muttered.

Her eyes were on him now, which was probably good, right? But Wade didn’t know where to go with this.

{Improv! We’re great at that.}

“I can help you home if you want. Or, like, somewhere safe. Or I could just fuck off and let you call a friend.”

She was already pulling out her phone while Wade blabbered his merc mouth. 

“Thanks. Could you just, like, wait here for a sec while I call someone?” Her voice was shaky, and she struggled to type something in her phone.

“Yeah, sure. Of course. I already washed and ironed my suit today, so I have nowhere to be.” Wade plopped down and sat criss-cross applesauce.

{Plus we’re avoiding a certain spider and all of our problems.}

The girl talked into the phone, side-eyeing Wade while she stayed leaned against the wall.

He rocked in place and hummed “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” with Yellow while they waited.

She stayed on the phone, understandably, until a car drove up and parked at the curb. At that, the girl relaxed visibly, her shoulders losing their tension. She ran to the car as the driver rushed out to meet her.

They talked excitedly for a minute, the girl sobbing out the story to her friend.

Wade shuffled to his feet and slunk away in search of more hero-moment distractions.

He purposely avoided the Spidey Zone in his patrol, but somehow, he still found himself walking a familiar street well within the avoided zone.

[I told you to take a right.]

{Oh shit. Check it, babes.}

Wade was staring into a new shop on the street. The store was dark inside -- it had closed hours ago, but the window lights remained on, casting a golden glow over the sidewalk outside. Wade could still see a flowy, bubblegum-colored dress draped over a mannequin in the lit window.

He raised a gloved hand to touch the glass, and a sigh slipped out that he deliberately ignored.

{You’ve already told them about the sigh now.}

“Do you think they have it in red?” 

{Ooh, maybe! We’d be beautiful.}

[As beautiful as you can be with a baboon-butt face. And a baboon-butt everything else, for that matter. The point is we look like an infected baboon butt, and a dress is not going to do much to fix that.]

“We could wear it over the suit.”

A movement in the reflection of the glass revealed someone standing behind him. He whirled around, and the guy behind him scoffed.

“What are you, some kind of homo?” He spat at Wade’s feet.

Wade pinned him to a streetlamp and pushed an arm at his throat. “You know, most of the time I do like dicks, but you’re one of the not-so-fun kind of dicks. Go fuck a cactus if it’ll have you,” he said in the most pleasant, fuck-you tone he could muster.

They guy sneered and pushed against Wade’s chest, doing nothing to move him. “Get off of me, you fugly bitch.”

Wade lifted his mask and grinned, his teeth stark in the night. He tilted his chin up to let the light of the streetlamp cast over his chin. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

The guy gagged and turned his head to the side.

{Another win for the party trick.}

[I count it as a loss.]

{Such a pessimist.}

Wade kept his mask up, giving the asshole all the ammo he could ask for. “It’s your lucky day because my boyfriend doesn’t like me unaliving people.”

[Spider-Man? He is not our boyfriend.]

{A girl can hope.}

[He has a girlfriend. Don’t hope too hard; you might hurt yourself.]

“I know he’s not. Shut up about it. I just did it for the squirms.”

And, sure enough, the guy was squirming beneath him like a helpless slug. Except less cool than a slug.

{Slugs are pretty cool.}

“Get off, you piece of shit. I’ll call the police.”

Something splattered over the asshole’s face that looked just like--

“Spidey jizz. What the fuck.” Wade turned around to see the familiar, form-fitting red and blue that suited Spidey’s stature so nicely.

{That’s two alliterations in one sentence. I am in love.}

Spidey shrugged. “I didn’t like what he was saying.”

Wade guessed he wasn’t talking about the police thing since Spidey called the police all the fucking time. Too often, really. It should really only be done once in every other blue moon because the police were so damn trigger-happy when it came to talking to them when you were covered in other people’s blood.

[Wade.]

Anywho, it begged the question, how much had Spidey heard? Wade didn’t really regret the boyfriend comment, but maybe Spidey would be upset at it. So maybe he did regret it. Fuck.

{This is too much thinking for my taste. Less thinking, more stabbing, please.}

Wade stared at Spidey, who specifically did not stare back. His gaze was averted like he was struck with sudden, uncharacteristic shyness.

“Thanks, boo. My knight in spandex armor saving me again. I could almost swoon right now.” He probably would have if he wasn’t a bit preoccupied with holding down the squirming slug.

“‘Pool, your mask.”

“Oh, fuck.” He yanked it back down. So politeness, then, not shyness.

[That is characteristic.]

{I love the polite spider. He could say “Please jump” and I’d say “How low can I go?”}

[That doesn’t even make sense.]

{You don’t make sense, granny.}

Spidey looked from the asshole Wade had pinned up to the light bulb above him. His lenses squinted in what Wade recognized as a smile. “I hope this has been an illuminating experience for you. Maybe it’ll finally bring you out of the dark ages.” With that, he turned on his heel and swung back down the street.

Wade missed him already.

[Seriously. How fucking pathetic can you get?]

Wade let the guy go after a final glare. It wasn’t until the asswipe was running off that he realized Spidey had left Wade alone to take care of things. The trust made his chest swell.

\---

He went back to the store at the time he found listed as their opening time. The doors stayed locked for a few minutes before someone walked up to open them and smiled at Wade like it was totally normal for a leather-clad, masked mercenary to stroll into their shop at 5 a.m.

{She’s as polite as Spidey.}

After a while searching, Wade found the right size and laid it softly over the checkout counter. After more time shuffling through pockets, Wade also found his wallet and ran out of the shop to take his prescribed spoonful of sugar once he triple-checked the door was locked.

It was delicious.

[We’re still an ugly fuck.]

But it was all hidden beneath fabric that made Wade look pretty. And he basked in it. A part of him wanted to run to the bathroom and rip down the covering on the mirror to see the dress fully, but the bigger part of him wanted to stay behind closed doors. Plus, he’d just have to cover the mirror back up right away.

So he ran his hands over the fabric and let it wash away the thoughts of sweatpants and barfing.

A knock on the door made his heart try to shoot out of his throat like a cannonball.

{They’re gonna know.}

“Wade? I was going to order in something for dinner.”

Wade swallowed his thumping heart back down. “Okay. How about Pad Thai?”

Spidey hummed an affirmative back, and Wade thought he left.

{Nah. He’s still standing there judging us.}

There was no way. At least, not judging anything out of the ordinary. Everything was ordinary. As far as Spidey knew. Fuck.

Sweatpants and barfing had returned to the forefront of Wade’s mind. He had seen what happened when Spidey caught a glimpse of half his face, and he really wasn’t looking forward to the reaction to the full Freddy-Krueger-as-oatmeal look.

[Rip off the Band-Aid. It’s time.]

Wade slid out of his dress, casting one last glance for courage, and walked out of the room back in the usual Deadpool suit.

{You could have really ripped off the Band-Aid and just walked out nude. That would’ve gotten it over with.}

Spidey turned to look at him from his tech set-up on the couch when he walked in. “Hey.”

“Hi. I wanna. . .” Fuck. Words were supposed to be so easy. He always had shit to say. Most people wished he didn't. “I want to take off the mask now. Before the whole civvies thing.” That would be too much at once.

[How are you gonna pull that off if he barfs at just the face?]

Wade shoved that question to the side, where it belonged.

[No it fucking doesn’t.]

{Yeah, it’s a likely outcome. We gotta consider it.}

Spidey still hadn’t moved from his place on the couch. He just sat there watching Wade. It was too much.

Wade clicked the button on his phone, and “I’m Coming Out” blasted from the speakers.

Spidey continued watching him with a neutral expression.

Wade moved a bit to the music, squinting his eyes shut to avoid the black face staring back at him. He hoped it stayed blank -- didn’t want to risk seeing whatever else it might have become.

He swayed his hips and squinted his eyes open just enough to walk over to the couch where Spidey was lying. He did a little spin.

[Stop stalling, Wade.]

Another little spin.

Little spins were easy, but he got dizzy way too quick. It wasn’t fair that spinning made you dizzy. That was like nature cheating you out of fun procrastination.

Wade’s eyes popped back open as he teetered in the room. Spidey was looking at him with a hesitant smile. It looked forced.

{That’s not a good sign.}

Wade squinted his eyes again. “I can’t do this,” he muttered.

[Band-Aid.]

{Rip it off. And just keep your eyes closed so you don’t have to watch him spew.}

Diana Ross sounded too happy. He clicked the song off.

“Wade, look at me.” Doughy Peter. Soft, little, sour cinnamon roll.

Wade cracked open one eye. Peter wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked sad. No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Wade rushed forward to kneel at the couch and looked up at Peter.

Peter held out a hand by Wade’s face but hesitated. Wade leaned his head into it.

“Wade, it’ll be okay. I’m not going to like you any less because of your face. I fucked up last time. I’m sorry. If you’re still not ready, that’s okay. But I’m ready whenever you are.”

Wade searched his eyes. He didn’t really know what for. Lies, probably. Wade wasn’t what you’d call a walking lie-detector, like Matt, but he could hold his own. And damn if Spidey didn’t look like he was lying.

{Band-Aid, big guy. You got this.}

Wade lifted a shaking hand to the bottom of his mask and sucked in a deep breath. He yanked it off and sat with baited breath and closed eyes for Spidey’s reaction.

No gagging could be heard.

[That’s a good start.]

The hand returned to his face, and Wade shivered. 

“I know I look like the moon, but I’m not actually made of cheese. I tested that.”

Peter laughed like twinkling bells. Wade’s eyes flew open to see the smile crossing his lips.

When Wade looked, the laughter stopped. Spidey’s eyes flicked back and forth between Wade’s. “You look fine, Wade,” he said softly, in a whisper. The smile stayed.

{♪ _Can you feel the love tonight?_ ♪}

[You’re ruining the mood.]

{I’m setting the mood. ♪ _The peace the evening brings._ ♪}

“No, u.” Wade grinned back.

Peter kept staring at him, and Wade had to look away. He stared down at his gloved hands, wanting to move back from the warm hand, from the staring, from everything.

Peter’s thumb rubbed over his cheek, then Peter blinked and the hand was gone.

Wade grabbed his mask from the floor, stealing another glance at Peter only to see disappointment flash across his face.

Fuck.

Wade tucked the mask in a pouch and went to grab them plates from the kitchen for when the food arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it through 100k words. Starting this, I thought it would be no more than 50k. I was very wrong, obviously. Thanks so much everyone for the support! You are all so lovely, and I always feel honored to hear from you.
> 
> Next chapter: Aunt May, wheat cakes, Hanukkah
> 
> With my all,  
> Kenwick


	26. Hanukkah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: N/A

Wade had surprised him when he popped out of the room and blurted out his announcement. Peter hadn’t expected to be privileged with that trust quite so soon.

And the ordeal was not what he expected.

Wade danced and performed a whole routine like a fluttering hummingbird hyped up with caffeine, but then he just shut down and muttered his struggle to the self-professed esports commentators.

Then the music stopped, and the performance was over. The jaunty illusion broke. Peter stumbled his way back into the previously ignored pile of real-world shit in hopes of at least rectifying some of his many mistakes and easing some of Wade’s pain before one of them (likely Peter) ran off again.

Wade watched him with wide, white mask-eyes, giving him a chance to finally provide an explanation that was long overdue. Peter seized the chance.

Somehow, it worked. Or maybe Wade just mustered the willpower himself while Peter rambled things he could barely remember through the pounding in his head.

Either way, the mask slipped over Wade’s face and fell to the floor.

Peter couldn’t breathe as his eyes flicked about frantically to take everything in in case it all disappeared again forever. Emotion crossed Wade’s face even clearer without the mask to muffle it. The little furrows in his brow, and the slight downward quirk of his lips. Peter pressed his hand back against Wade’s cheek to try and soothe some of the worry away.

When Wade opened his eyes, the rest of the world was lost to Peter.

The moment had shifted into something that Peter didn’t want to acknowledge, and he pulled back from Wade, turning away from the intense gaze of blue.

Wade grabbed his mask from the floor, and Peter’s still-thudding heart sank.

He thought he had done better this time. He thought he could make up for his mistake last time, but Wade was already trying to cover back up. 

Not that he thought Wade’s insecurities would just vanish the moment Peter saw him without reacting like a stupid deer in headlights, but he had hoped to have a little longer to see those eyes.

Wade glanced at him again, his brow furrowing. He rolled the mask over in his hand, as if in deliberation, and stuffed it into a pouch.

Before Peter could react, Wade hopped up and ran off. 

As Wade’s footsteps retreated to the kitchen, Peter sank deep into the couch, letting out a sigh. He could barely sense Wade’s footsteps with the rate his heart was going.

His fingers tapped over his keyboard, and he resisted the urge to watch as Wade left. The way his senses wouldn’t let go of Wade moving about the kitchen was disconcerting. It was like he couldn’t shake his presence off. 

The doorbell rang, the final straw that sent Peter to the ceiling, where he stuck firmly, like one of those sticky hands. Or a spider. Obviously a spider.

He pulled against the plastered ceiling carefully, trying to unstick while his senses screamed at him to stay stuck there on the ceiling and above whatever danger it assumed was there.

He managed to peel his fingers off and drop to the ground. Brushing himself off, he lunged to the door to open it and get the food delivery.

Wade’s footsteps paced the kitchen while Peter fished out a few bills to tip the delivery person. She thanked him and walked away as he closed the door with his foot, which tried to stick there, too.

He felt like a teenager again, still growing into his powers.

As he set the food down on the end table in the living room, Wade’s footsteps returned to the couch.

Peter took a deep breath.

Everything was totally normal. Nothing to overreact about. Faces were normal.

Somehow, it didn’t feel that way.

\---

Peter tugged on his coat while he yelled down the hall for Wade. They were going to be late, and Peter was not about to miss his first opportunity for lunch with May because Wade’s incontinence decided to strike again. 

Wade waltzed out of the bathroom, way too carefree for the current time-crunch. “I’m ready, Spidey babe.” He held out his arms with a flourish and turned around to stick out his butt at Peter. “I even got some spicy sweatpants just for you.”

They were grey and read “Spice Girl” on the back in hot pink. It looked like Wade had embroidered them himself. Explained the late exit.

Peter choked out a nervous laugh as he searched through his coat pockets for the apartment keys. “Okay, where’s the rest of your clothes in case you don’t want to wear those for a full week?”

“Oh, yeah, I already tossed my bag down. I’m ready when you are.”

The pocket zipper fought Peter before falling victim to his super strength. That made a total of two down in one morning. He didn’t have the patience for coats. He glanced around the hall then back to Wade. “You tossed it. . . What?”

“Want me to get yours, too?” He reached for Peter’s bag.

“No, no. I’m fine. Where’s your bag?”

“Babe, I know you’re tired and all wound up with stress, but I just explained, and you’re on my ass about a time-crunch.” Wade patted Peter’s shoulder condescendingly, as if to reassure him, as he fought another stubborn zipper. “My bag’s in the alley waiting for us. Let’s hop to it.”

Peter blinked and craned his head toward Wade’s window, which gave some sort of view of the alley three stories down. “Don’t you have guns in there?”

Wade patted his leg. “All my babies stay close to their mama. Can’t risk the alley rats raiding my bag. Wouldn’t want to have to shoot their adorable, little faces off.”

Peter shook his head and tugged Wade toward the door. “Very protective mother hen, huh? You shouldn’t smother your chicks so.”

Wade gasped behind him but followed in step down the stairs. “They’re babies, Peter, _babies_. What would you have me do? Leave them in the cold alley to fend for themselves against the rats? I think not.”

Wade ran obligingly alongside him all the way to the subway, crowing praises about his ‘babies’ all the way.

By the time the doors closed and they sped off toward Peter’s childhood home, where May had moved back in, Wade had switched topics to the weather. He only talked about the weather when he was complaining about patrol or nervous about something, and they weren’t on patrol.

Peter let him ramble himself out about the color of the clouds and the expected precipitation that night until he finally circled around to what was bugging him. “Maybe I should have gone with the sun hat instead, give some shadows to make me all mysterious and cool. It’s all the rage with the kids these days.” He tugged at his fuzzy beanie, pulling it lower over his face.

So maybe not the absolute crux of what was bothering him, but Peter could work with it.

He patted awkwardly at Wade’s shoulder, which somehow seemed to relax him despite the clunkiness of the gesture, and chose to ignore the comment about sun hats being the current style. “She’s gonna love you, Wade. And you look great.” He was at least able to say that much with confidence.

Wade puffed out his chest and grinned at Peter. “Oh, do go on about how much you love my spicy sweater-pants and how nice this shirt makes my tits look.” He cupped his pecs.

“To be clear, I didn’t say any of that.”

“You didn’t have to, sweetums. I told you -- Same wavelength, you and I.” 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and pulled out his phone to let May know they were on the way.

Wade bounced in his seat and hummed a song Peter didn’t recognize. He was almost back to his usual, annoying self. Almost.

\---

Wade’s finger still hung in the frosty air just in front of the doorbell. He glanced at Peter, who smiled from under his two thick scarves, before nodding and pressing his finger forward with finality.

May was at the door within moments, ushering them in and tutting over Peter about the cold. She pulled him into a tight hug, and he buried his head in her shoulder, just like old times.

He felt Wade shuffle behind them. Pulling back from May’s embrace, he cleared his throat. “May, this is Wade. Wade, May.”

He stuck out his hand and smiled, radiating confidence except for the slight tremble Peter felt from his feet. The nerves were unusual for Wade and off-putting for Peter.

Wade shook May’s hand once, maintaining his charming smile, which she returned warmly. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Wade.”

“You, too. It’s a rare occurrence Peter knows somebody to introduce me to. Thanks for inviting me.”

When May chuckled in response, Peter glowered at her and crossed his arms.

Wade reached up under his coat and tugged at something. “I got something for you, May. Kept it from freezing and everything.” With a grunt, he pulled out a bottle of wine and a small wheel of cheese. “I suppose it’s more of a house re-warming, but I thought we might as well have a little sophisticated celebration anyways.”

Peter swelled with some mixture of pride and relief for Wade as May thanked him and showed him to the kitchen.

Peter smelled May’s wheat cakes before he saw them and rushed to follow into the kitchen. May smiled and pointed out the plates of food she had already set out as she put the cheese in the fridge.

By the time May made it to the table, Peter’s stomach was growling harshly. She sat down, and they said HaMotzi.

“I also made matzo ball soup when I saw how cold it is out there. I know how you get chilled, dear.”

“Thanks, May. I’d love some. But don’t worry too much; we weren’t outside long,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“Manners, Peter,” she said offhandedly, “And don’t think I didn’t see you shivering when you came in.”

Peter ran a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry. The soup sounds great.”

She smiled. “Grab yourself a bowl, hon. The pot’s warmed on the stove.”

“Ooh, me too, babe? Please.” Wade waved his hand wildly in the air and shifted in his seat like a student in desperate need of the bathroom.

Peter filled three bowls and brought them back to the table while May asked Wade about his work, which was met with Wade launching into what sounded like a prepared speech complete with an abundance of over-dramatized moments.

\---

“Hey, babe, is there a place I can put our bags?”

Peter passed the final dish for Wade to dry. “We can just put them in my room for now.” 

Wade followed him to the living room and grabbed both of the bags before Peter could reach for them.

“You do know I’m the one with the super strength?”

“Ooh, careful with the dirty talk. Your aunt could overhear,” Wade trilled, shooting him a far-too amused look before gesturing for him to lead the way.

It wasn’t far, and Peter nudged open the door with a sweeping gesture to make it hopefully more grand than entrance to the dingy room normally would be. It was emptier since he had left and felt different, but it was still home.

His comforter, soft from years of use, lay smoothed over his bed. The room looked clean and smelled of lemons. May had evidently prepared for the visit as she normally did when she was excited for guests, and it brought a smile to Peter.

He was home again.

“Wow, I can just imagine a tiny you having a nightmare and falling out of bed.” Wade pointed to the bed while he walked in with the bags and scanned the room.

“That’s the first thing you imagine young-me doing?” Peter shuffled into the room behind Wade to sit on his bed.

“To be fair, that’s pretty typical for current-you. And rest assured, the nerd shit was next in line in my imagination.” He leaned over Peter to tap a chemistry poster on the wall above the bed.

“Oh, great. I am very assured.”

Wade grinned down at him, his eyes alight with the joke. Peter willed his heart to slow down.

“Hello, boys. I brought you some --” May walked in the room and looked between Peter and Wade. “Oh. I’ll just leave them here, then. Some snacks for you two.” 

She doddered hastily back toward the door, but Peter waved his hands and stood up, whacking his head against Wade’s chin in the process. He blathered out some sort of apology as May slipped out of the room.

Wade laughed and rubbed his chin, stepping back from Peter’s bed to flop into the desk chair. Peter flinched as he landed, fearing for his poor, childhood chair’s integrity. Now spinning lazy (and much safer) circles, Wade continued examining the room. Peter didn’t know for what; there wasn’t much to be seen, wasn’t much interesting.

“We probably should head to the living room pretty soon.”

Wade looked up at him suddenly, as if jolted from thought. “Oh, sure. Just a sec.” He jumped back up from the chair, nearly toppling it over, to tug off his sweatshirt over his Golden Girls t-shirt, and pulled out a sweater from his bag. “Okay, I’m ready when you are, boo,” he said, muffled as he tugged the sweater down over his head.

Peter gestured for him to follow.

They walked into the living room to find May standing by the window watching the sunset. She was clutching something against her chest as she stared out. Peter recognised it as the scarf Ben had gotten her not long before he had passed.

He walked up to the window to stand next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, eyeing the picture of Ben holding baby Peter on the table beside May’s rocking chair.

She smiled shakily at him and wiped her eyes. “Alright, I’ve got the candles out on my chair over there. Wade, could you be a dear and bring them over here?” She pointed to the package of candles, which Wade rushed to scoop up and bring to her.

May put the shamash and the first candle in the chanukiah before opening a drawer in the little table to pull out matches while Wade watched with rapt attention.

Peter smiled and nudged him while May passed the candles to Peter. “We have another to do.”

Wade’s eyebrows skyrocketed, and the bouncing increased.

Peter pulled out more candles and another match for Ben’s chanukiah.

He still considered it to be Ben’s, even after years of Hanukkahs passing without him. He had helped Peter light it for the first time years ago and guided him in it for years after that, and the first time he had to do it with only May there hadn’t felt the same.

She and Peter lit the matches, and each held the flickering flame to the shamash while they began chanting the blessings together.

Wade bounced in place, reading along in his phone to chant the blessings with them while May and Peter lit the candle of each chanukiah and they finished the blessings.

Even after they finished, Wade was still bouncing with the same amount of energy, repeatedly bumping into Peter like an overexcited bumblebee. His stamina was truly astonishing.

“More?”

Peter shook his head. “Nah. Three’s a crowd.” He smiled.

Wade nodded seriously. “Understandable.” He looked back at the chanukiah, the dancing flames reflecting in his eyes. “Though I think it would be a good kind of crowd.”

“Probably would.”

“So what now?”

May shut the matches back in the drawer. “I thought we might play some dreidel. I got plenty of gelt for it.”

While they set up, Peter and May took turns explaining the trashing of the Second Temple by Antiochus IV and the pagan rituals he then held in the looted temple after banning the practise of Judaism.

Wade listened with wide eyes while they carried on even after the game was set up to play.

Peter leaned forward to take over the story from where May had left off and launched into how the Maccabees led a revolt and successfully liberated the temple.

May touched Peter’s arm, bringing him back from where he had leaned way out into the gameplay space. 

“But there was only one day’s worth of oil left after the looting, surely not enough to keep the Ner Tamid lit until they could get more.” She smiled at Peter with a glimmer in her eye.

Wade looked anticipatory and was almost as far out of his seat as Peter was.

“But it was,” Peter burst out. “Some miracle assistance, and the oil lasted long enough to keep the flame lit until they could get more oil. Eight days. They tried to get rid of us but we stuck, the oil lasted, and we’re still here now to celebrate.”

Wade sat back hard and plopped his chin in his hands. “So now we get to eat eight days worth of oil to celebrate.”

“Yeah, basically.” Peter also sat back finally, leaning back against his arms.

“And lighting candles for eight nights,” May added.

Peter nodded and looked over at the flickering lights by the windows.

Wade was back to wiggling with abounding energy. “And chocolate.” He nodded his head toward the piles of chocolate gelt on the floor next to May.

Peter squinted at him. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

He nodded harshly. “Very fucking hungry. I could eat a horseradish.”

“You have to win your meal tonight,” May said with a smile. “We’re playing for chocolate.” She shook a few coins in her hand.

Wade’s eyes widened comically, and Peter handed him his share with a pointed look. “These are your game pieces. If you run out, there’s no backups. And no dinner.”

That was kind of a lie, but Peter would be a fool to tell Wade that there was more chocolate to be had. And it was true in that Peter wasn’t going to give Wade the extras for the game. Wade would have said they were going to a good cause, but that was just a nickname for his stomach.

May took her share and stacked the coins neatly in piles. Meanwhile, Wade’s coins had already been dumped all over his area, and a few wrappers had been strewn about. Peter looked back up at Wade with the most disappointed look he could muster, which didn’t last long, breaking in the face of Wade’s excitement and stuffed mouth. Peter cracked up and knocked over May’s tidy stacks, which earned him a soft swat to the arm and some reluctant laughter.

He needed to be more resolute against Wade’s adorable chocolatey charms or Wade really would lure the extra gelt into tonight’s play and his own pile.

May picked up the dreidel and they all spun to start.

The game was afoot.

\---

“Give it a good twist,” Peter encouraged.

Leaning way forward, Wade grabbed the dreidel and spun it, muttering, “I know how to spin it, thank you very much. I don’t need a backseat spinner.”

They both watched as it spun round and round on the ground between them. Peter glanced up at Wade to see him staring with a furrowed brow, glaring at the dreidel like he could use sheer willpower to make it land how he wanted.

It slowed and toppled over, revealing shin pointed up once again.

“You totally weighted it!”

“We’re playing with the same one!”

“Maybe not.” Wade leaned forward with an angry pout, supporting himself on his arms as his face so neared Peter’s that their noses nearly touched. “You’re using your spider army to switch the dreidels while I’m not looking.” As he sat back with a ‘humph,’ he flicked one of his chocolates into the middle pile.

“Or maybe you’re just a sore loser.” Peter studied the way Wade’s bottom lip jutted out farther in a silent, indignant plea.

“You would be, too, if all your chocolate was going to the pot instead of your mouth.” Wade unwrapped another and slid it into his mouth with a pitiful frown.

“Plenty is going to your mouth, Wade.”

Wade held a hand to his chest in mock-affrontation. “Not enough. Do I not deserve all the chocolatey goodness in the world, Petey?”

“You do,” Peter conceded, with more seriousness than he had intended. 

Wade’s eyebrows flicked up quickly before he schooled his face back into that damned, charming smile.

“I think I’ll head off for the night, leave you boys to play.”

Peter started at May’s voice beside him. She watched them with an amused smile for a long moment before standing up and patting off her pants. “Goodnight, dears.” She leaned down to grab Peter’s head and kiss the top of it with a cheery “Chanukah sameach.”

With that, she pattered off, leaving Wade and Peter sitting in the dim candlelight.

“I think I should get all her gelt since you weighted the dreidel.”

“It’s the _same_ dreidel, Wade.” He was already pushing May’s stacks toward Wade. Despite Peter’s best intentions, Wade’s chocolatey charms won out after all.

Nonetheless, Peter’s pile was almost as big as Wade’s.

He picked up the dreidel and spun.

\---

Wade flopped onto the bed, continuing his disregard for Peter’s remaining childhood artifacts, and sighed. He pulled out another wrapped chocolate from some hiding place and stuck it in his mouth, turning his head to look at Peter while he sucked on it.

Peter was surprised he hadn’t just swallowed it whole like a snake at the rate he had been going. Shaking his head, he shuffled through his bag to grab pyjamas.

“So, is there a couch or something I can sleep on, or will I be curled up on the floor like the good ole days?”

Peter glanced over to see Wade fidgeting intently with a wrapper. “No, you can take my bed. You get some more Spidey impersonation time tonight.” He held out his hands and announced it like a grand prize Wade had won. “I’ll be on the couch.”

Wade rolled over onto his stomach and pouted. “No, Spidey. How am I supposed to do a proper impersonation without my mentor here to guide me? You’re my inspiration, my muse.”

“I am many people’s muse. I’m a busy man.”

“Too busy for me?” Wade hopped up onto his bed, sitting criss-cross and holding his knees as he rocked like a toddler asking for one last bedtime story.

Of course, Peter had to oblige.

“If the protegé insists.” Peter bowed dramatically as he backed out of the bedroom. He went to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth with surprising silence from the other room. Wade was not known to be silent. Squashing down his curiosity, Peter took a few more moments to rinse before peeking his head back into the room. He found Wade still sitting on the bed with a furrowed brow, no longer rocking. His fingers tapped at his knees like he was upset.

Maybe Peter should have insisted on taking the couch after all.

“Wade?”

He looked up with a wonky smile, looking back to his usual, goofball self. “Hey, Petey-pie.” He winced behind the smile and went back to tapping.

Peter shuffled into the room and tossed his old clothes into the closet before sitting beside Wade on the bed. “You alright, man?”

“Right as rain and cool as hail.”

Peter nodded slowly, and his heart squeezed painfully. He sat down beside Wade. “I’m sure May loved you.”

“Oh?”

“Sure, who wouldn’t?” Peter grinned, thinking it was obvious for May to like Wade. It was a given before she had even met him.

But Wade’s smile faltered again, this time staying twisted into a not-quite-smile. “Not enough time in the world to give the full answer to that question, Spidey.” He hopped up and skipped to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes, leaving Peter to flop onto the bed and scrub his palms into his eyes.

By the time Wade came back, Peter was buried under the covers to create a shell of warmth around him. He felt Wade’s footsteps near the bed and stop. He thumped to the ground and curled up.

Peter leaned over the side of the bed, peering out of his shell for a moment to see Wade laying in fetal position below him. He stuck a finger to his shoulder to shake him a bit. “Get off the floor, dumbass.”

Wade rolled over and grinned up at him, making grabby hands.

Peter rolled his eyes but again obliged his demanding toddler, pulling him up onto the bed. His shell of warmth was a lost dream at this point, and he shivered against the cold.

“Aw, babe,” Wade cooed, “now I know why I got invited to join you in the lap of luxury. C’mere.” He wiggled his fingers again, and Peter leaned into his warmth as Wade wrapped his arms around him and chased the chill out of his body.

Wade rubbed his back and leaned them back so they could lay down.

Peter curled up and nuzzled into the warmth, feeling for all the world like a content cat lounging in the sun. Cats sure had it good.

\---

He woke up in the actual sun, adding to Wade’s warmth. He blinked against the light and turned to see Wade resting peacefully behind him. 

He looked soft and goofy like this, and it made Peter’s heart thud and and his stomach tumble with nausea in a way that was, unfortunately, familiar. It was a feeling he had promised himself he wouldn’t get to ever again. Not after everything -- everybody.

Yet, here he was. Peter swallowed hard, a new kind of sickness adding to his already-turning stomach. He had fallen for Wade like an idiot and hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

This was not a good time to figure out he had a heckling crush on his best friend, not when he was laying in bed next to the aforementioned friend.

He ran his hands down his face wondering how he ever let this happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen. He knew how this would go, how it always went. But it couldn’t go that way.

He needed to get away and clear his head.

He climbed the wall and had reached the ceiling to crawl over Wade when he heard someone coming down the hall. He dropped from the ceiling just before the door opened, landing on Wade with a harsh meeting of bones and soft places.

“Ow. Babe, what the fuck?”

Peter sat up to look at May who was watching them with surprise.

Wade shifted under Peter, rubbing his nose (which Peter had thoroughly smashed) with one hand and putting his other hand on Peter’s leg. He tried to brush Wade off, but he apparently wasn’t paying attention.

May muttered something about learning to knock, which Peter thoroughly agreed with, before putting on a smile and letting them know that breakfast was ready.

She clicked the door closed behind her.

Peter rolled off the bed and smushed his face into his hands. This morning was already turning out to be a disaster for so many reasons.

Wade sat up in bed, holding at his bloody nose while he looked down at Peter with a furrowed brow. “The fuck was that?”

Peter jumped up to grab the tissue box from his desk. “Sorry. Should’ve learned by now to wait for my morning caffeine before climbing the ceiling. Are you alright?” He examined his tissue-stuffed nose, tilting Wade’s head side to side.

“I’m excellent, but you look like you’re freezing your webs off out there. You wanna warm up again before we get up?” Wade looked heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

Pulling away, Peter backed toward the door. “No, I gotta -- need my morning caffeine before I, you know, crash into a. . . cabinet or something.”

“Good idea. I’ll join you in two shakes of my very own tail because the sheep are still asleep at this hour.”

Peter had already speed-walked halfway down the hall and toward escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to CuteAsAMuntin for her help with the Chanukah portions of this chapter and her everlasting patience. Without her, this chapter could not exist. Thank you.
> 
> So I am back. Sort of. Rest assured, wonderful people, I am dedicated to finishing this fic and have planned out most of what's left. At this point, though, the schedule has been thrown out the window and hit by a plane. The new schedule is surprise chapter postings. 
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me and this brand-new schedule.
> 
> Next chapter: latkes, cozy times, a catless bag
> 
> Sincerely yours,  
> Kenwick


	27. Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

After an hour spent poring over his Facebook and Weas’ grammy’s replies on every post without fail —

{Adorable.}

— Wade finally rolled himself out of bed to join Spidey for a cup of caf.

He tugged the tissues from his nose and tossed them in the bin on his way out the door, but a paper on the desk caught his eye.

[Oh, great. More stalking. Even a few chapters without is just too much for you to handle.]

Wade gripped the door handle tight and turned to leave the room, but failed to stop himself from stepping back to double check what he had seen under a photo of Spider-Man on the front of a newspaper.

{Holy shit. How did we not connect those signposted dots?}

Wade smoothed out the photographer’s name as anger boiled up in his chest. He had seen the name Peter Parker pop up a number of times while collecting intel on Spider-Man but had mostly dismissed the articles since they came from the _Daily Bugle_.

But this first name and subject matter was too close to a photographer that Wade was damn fond of to dismiss it so easily again.

Had Peter actually sold his Spidey soul to the poor excuse for a joke of an editor-in-chief at the _Daily Bugle_? They didn’t appreciate the fucking angel they had working his ass off for them.

{Omg. I’ve got the greatest idea, big guy.}

[Blow the shithead open. Make him regret being born.]

{You read my mind.}

“Slow down there. Normally I’d be all gun hoe to blow things up —”

[Not the expression.]

“I know what I fucking said. But Petey’s livelihood is at stake here.”

{Not to mention Spidey’s public image.}

[Peter has complained about Jameson’s coverage of Spider-Man before. Seems like the boss could learn to. . . make some space in his heart for the city’s greatest hero.]

And Wade would be thrilled to teach that lesson.

He searched up the info for the _Daily Bugle_ and took mental notes once the vacay was done. “We’re just gonna have a polite chat with the scumfuck.”

{Ooh, yeah. Just a nice, toothless talk.}

[Or we can put some teeth somewhere.]

{Teeth autotransplantation. Free of charge.}

With one final glare at the article, Wade turned on his heel and skipped out of the room.

May was already up and about in the kitchen, grating away at potatoes and humming along to soft music playing from a little, round speaker. Peter was nowhere in sight, but there were other snacks and company to be had. Wade popped back a couple cheese slices like a fancy bitch and watched May work her way through the rest of the potato smoothly.

“Peter went out for a walk. He does like his exercise, but I wish he would stay in with the weather so cold today.”

{Think he’s patrolling?}

[Or working off the excess caffeine.]

{And boy does he work it.}

Wade reached across the counter to grab one of the ungrated potatoes and tossed gently in the air. “We’ll just have to have something hot ready for him when he gets back.”

{This sounds like a job for me.}

[ _No._ ]

May smiled and pulled another grater from a cabinet below her, sliding it to Wade. “Then it’s time for you to earn your keep, dear.”

As they cooked, May told him stories of a younger Peter that were just the kind of nerdy shit Wade had expected. May glowed with pride as she spoke, and it was a nice change of pace to see someone who actually, really cared about Peter. Wade got worried when most of his social interactions were with his nemeses and jackass bosses. 

May laid out a towel and deposited the mixture into it before rolling it up and handing it to Wade to do the heavy lifting. Well, squeezing, really. 

“How was it that you two met?” 

Wade wrung the cloth like an almost-expert. Who said his muscles were just for show?

[Yeah, the intimidation is just a bonus for the functionality.]

“I’m glad you asked. He was taking pictures of me in my daily to-do — Probably thought I was a model. One of those emotional appeal stand-ins for charity ads. You know the type. Anywho, he was snapping pics of this mess, and I was like, ‘Hey. . .’” 

Wade cocked his head and plopped the filled towel back in the bowl. “‘What’s the big idea, big-brain?’ So I chased him down in this daring, Cinderella-story chase, matched the camera to the photographer, et cetera.”

{*Jeopardy music*}

Wade had been making valiant efforts to ignore the boxes for the Hanukkah trip, but he let his guard down long enough to stick his tongue out at Yellow while May was busy adding eggs to the mixture. 

“Long story short, he didn’t get the sappy story for his boss-boy, but he did get some ruin-your-tastebuds-good tacos and a friendship rivalling Bert and Ernie’s.”

The door clicked shut in the other room, and Peter pattered in, shivering from the cold. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk out on you for ruining food for me like that.” He made a beeline for Wade, huddling into his side and sticking there. 

And that was why Peter put up with him.

{That hot bod.} 

“Now’s my chance for revenge, though. There’s no going back from May’s latkes.”

“I’m glad you’re back, dear. Wade was just telling me about how you two met.”

Wade snapped his fingers. “Right. So, after a few months of tacos and video games, I agreed to be his domestic housewife and watch tv all day while he makes fun of me and steals my warmth. Best decision I ever made _._ ”

May pushed the bowl of the finished mixture to Peter with a concerned look — no doubt noticing the way Peter was shaking faster than a chihuahua, which Wade doubted was the result of caffeine alone, considering Peter’s ability to chug cold brew.

“Help Wade with the frying while I make you a nice, hot cup of tea.”

Once Peter offered a guilty smile and a ‘thank you,’ May turned to work on heating water.

Peter pinched out a glob of the mixture and dropped it into the hot oil where it sizzled in a wonderful way that had Wade wanting to stick his hand in.

[Don’t do it, you _fucking idiot_.]

Wade bobbed his head to the current song while he watched the latke crispen. Once the sample-sized test was complete, Wade sampled. It was crispy and creamy, and nothing like the reduced-sodium starch disks of a certain brand rhyming with Planischewitz that Wade’s evil corner store sold. 

[I thought we agreed to stop product placement.]

They had been advertised as potato pancakes, but that was a fucking lie and a heresy of the good name of pancakes. These Parker ones tasted like the Candadian maple syrup of potatoes and had plenty of sodium. 

Point being, the Parker products were delicious, and it took all of Wade’s self-control (which he did have, thanks) to not scoop the latkes out of the oil until they were really and fully done.

For his part, Peter shaped the potato patties to drop in at an impressive speed, which had the team spitting out latkes like a well-oiled machine.

{And that’s on the importance of lubrication.}

[I’ll slip and slide you right on out of my brainspace. That’ll show you its importance.]

{ _Our_ brainspace. And, sure. Lube me up, Scotty.}

When May finished the tea in time to help Peter shape patties, even all the lubricant in the world couldn’t have sped Wade up enough to keep up with them. But damn if he didn’t fight to save every soldier he could, fishing out all but two of the latkes before they crossed the threshold into burnt, pitiful husks of what could have been.

Once all (minus two dearly departed) of the latkes had been safely scooped onto the paper towels lining the countertop, they all sat down to enjoy a hibiscus tea break.

Then, the latkes were served, along with little bowls of sour cream and applesauce. They all dipped, crunched, and sipped for a few blissful minutes, enjoying the crackle of the fire from the living room.

\---

The candles flickered out, and Wade already couldn’t wait for the next night’s lighting.

But for now, he was content to be wrapped up with Peter on the sagging couch of the living room while May pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead and disappeared down the hall.

It was weird having a family again.

{Again?}

[Family?]

Fuck off. It was as close as he would ever get, anyway.

Peter stood up off the couch and yawned, scratching at his fluffy bedhead. “Wanna watch a movie or go to bed?”

“It’s nine o’clock, gramps.”

Peter just yawned again and slid a movie into the player.

{He could slide something into me.}

[Shut the fuck up.]

“No talking during the movie. You’ll be kicked out of the cinema.” Wade curled up against Peter as he sat back down, nestling his head on the weary shoulder.

{What’re you gonna do? Kick your own head in?}

Shhh.

The boxes fizzed into merciful silence as the movie clicked on. Peter set the remote down and dropped his head against Wade’s.

“What’re we watching,” Wade stage-whispered as a crowd of boys bounced a basketball down a school hallway. It looked like a sports movie. Wade preferred musicals and explosions, and damn it, Peter knew this.

“Full-Court Miracle. It’s a classic.” He tossed the DVD case to Wade.

“Are you trying to trick me into watching a fucking sports movie, sweetums?” Wade kept his voice sweet like poison as he turned the case over to read the back.

Peter pulled back an inch to look at Wade. “You’ll love it. Trust me?”

After miming the words back with a sneer, Wade muttered a brief, “Fine.”

With a conciliatory pat to Wade’s thigh, Peter snuggled back up. That did brighten his mood. He curled an arm around Peter’s shoulder and braced himself for two hours of basketballs flying around, conking people on the head.

[It’s beginning to sound like you have a personal vendetta against basketballs.]

Wade stuffed a few more pieces of gelt into his mouth.

The Schlots kid sat in class, and a familiar name in the lesson caught Wade’s attention. “Judah Maccabee! I know that guy.” He nudged Peter, who laughed.

“The very one.”

It turned out the movie did have a music moment after all, with the whole team dancing to a remix of “I Have a Little Dreidel.” For the final game, the drama ramped up tenfold, and Wade, always one for drama, was sucked in as the little basketball Maccabees fought their little basketball fight while the remaining fuel to power the game dwindled.

Wade watched with rapt attention as a familiar miracle played out.

When the credits rolled, Wade plopped back from where he had found himself at the edge of the couch. 

Peter lay curled against the arm of the sofa, tossing lightly in his sleep. Wade wished he could march right into Peter’s dreamworld and shoot up anything that dared disturb his peaceful sleep. He did enough fighting in his waking hours, and he didn’t need that in any other category of hours.

[Being a hero is a ceaseless job.]

{It should cease for him.}

[He’s too damn _good_ to stop.]

Tutting lightly, Wade patted his shoulder. Spidey’s eyes drifted open long enough for him to spot Wade and climb on top of him in the blink of an eye before he had drifted off to dreamland again. He had already latched onto Wade with his spidery stickiness and showed no signs of letting go.

Wade hummed him a lullaby from some distant memory as he carried him to bed.

Even once they had plopped into bed and Wade had pulled the blankets over them, Peter didn’t let go. If anything, he just snuggled up closer, sticking to Wade like cling-wrap. He had already drooled all over Wade’s favorite Golden Girls t-shirt.

Wade ran his hands through his hair to soothe away the nightmares.

[Enjoy it while it lasts. He’ll wake up soon, and you’ll be back to scum status.]

He flinched. It was true. That was the whole problem. Peter was willing to deal with Wade as long as he was a comfortable furnace in icy weather, but winter would come to an end. It always did in Wade’s experience.

Plus, there were all the jokes. Wade could at least believe Peter genuinely stomached him if not for the jokes. He would call Wade hot or say that _obviously_ people must like him, as if no one had thought to farm that particular crop of humor before. They had, and it was already old.

{Yeah, he could at least be original with it.}

But no. It was just “Oh, haha, you’re so sexy lmfao” while staring at Wade’s rotten mushroom face. Over and over.

Wade felt sick.

[It’s because you are.]

{Just a sick fuck only good for a joke.}

Wade’s hand twitched for a gun, or knife, or _something_ , but it didn’t do any good. Spidey was still curled around him, trapping him with all the adhesive of Gorilla Glue while he still too conked out to know who it was he was clinging to.

Wade stared up at the ceiling until sleep finally, mercifully took him.

\---

{On a lighter note,}

The sufganiyot were Wade’s favorite food so far. You thought it would be the pancakes, right? Potato or not, pancakes always had a special place set aside in Wade’s stomach (that’s a quick, Canadian-specific anatomy lesson for you, free of charge), but the little homemade donuts really took the cake.

{And we didn’t even have any cake, so that’s really saying something.}

Mostly it was because Wade could blow powdered sugar all over Peter and watch him scrunch his face up and rub it all off while complaining to Wade about making a mess.

Wade suggested some other ways of making a mess, but he didn’t seem fond of those either.

[Don’t act so surprised.]

{You’re just embarrassing yourself at this point.}

Peter strolled out of the bathroom and, once again, right into Wade’s projectile range.

“ _Pour your sugar on me_ ,” Wade sang, two sufganiyot in hand.

This time, Peter caught his wrist, but that didn’t stop him from blowing until Peter was covered in white flecks. 

Wade didn’t even bother to look down at the feather-light, burning grip he had on his wrist. He just swiped his thumb over Peter’s Mr.-Potato-Head angry eyes with an innocent grin. “ _In the name of love._ ”

Peter let out a long breath that released a cloud of sugar. “The sugar was supposed to be for you to eat.”

“Oh, well in that case. . .” Wade grinned wickedly and crowded Peter into the wall, pressing his captured wrist into Peter’s chest. Lifting his other hand, he swiped a thumb across Peter’s pink cheek. He sucked all the sugar off his thumb while Peter watched with wide eyes.

The next thing Wade knew, he had been pushed into the opposite wall, where his head snapped back with a thud. He rubbed at the sore spot while Peter stood tensed with his mouth and eyes still wide. In a flash, he swooshed back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

[Why do I even try? All you do is fuck up.]

But at least Wade did it like royalty. And he was only a little, eensy-weensy bit remorseful about it because he got pushed into a wall by fucking Spider-Man. He really was living the wet dream.

[Once again, I am here to remind you that this is your friend you are talking about, and he’s upset.]

Wade’s heart slowed a bit, and the haze in his head cleared enough for him to realize he actually regretted it a hugey-wugey bit. 

[That is the most terrible sentence I have ever had to set eyes upon.]

“Fuck.” Wade drew his hoodie strings tight and plopped onto the ground to lay down. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone so far. Definitely shouldn’t have. Shit fuck-a-doodle.

[And what are we gonna do about it?]

“Fuck off, Mom. I feel pissy enough, okay? You made your point.”

The bathroom door clicked open, and Peter’s sugar-free face poked out, followed by the rest of him a moment later. He blinked down at Wade.

“I’m sorry, Petey-pie, joy of my life. I won’t do it again.”

He smiled and laid down next to Wade, their shoulders squished together.

{How does he still put up with us?}

[Unknown. But he shouldn’t]

“It’s okay. No harm done.” He rolled over a bit to jostle Wade’s shoulder. He was too good for his own good. “Now do you want to get a sufganiyah to actually eat instead of torment me with?”

“¿Por qué no los dos?” Wade jumped up and offered a hand to Peter. He only hesitated a moment before accepting the offering. Wade skipped his way to the kitchen for more stuffed donuts to stuff himself.

{ _Be_ the donut.}

Once Peter and Wade had filled plates with sufganiyot, they carried them to the living room to join May for tea and a round of In a Pickle.

She set down her crocheting when they sat down to join her, in favor of studying her hand.

Wade guessed she must have invented a single-player version because she was kicking Peter’s ass as much as anyone could in In a Pickle.

“Peter, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ve been seeing anyone special.”

He tensed beside Wade, reading his cards with a new intensity. “Oh. Well, no. I’ve been too busy to really think about that.” He laid down a boring house over the mouse card.

Wade squinted. Something was weird about this.

[You mean the lack of a previously referenced girlfriend or the new, gloriously-cuttable tension in the room?]

Yes to both counts. Peter was definitely hiding something, and lucky for Wade, he was great at hide and seek. Had a lot of time to practise as a kid at home and as an adult playing hero.

{It’s so much more fun when the shitbags try to hide.}

After scanning his cards, Wade tugged one out to put a computer inside Abraham Lincoln.

“Didn’t you mean to put the cards the other way around?”

Huh. Abraham Lincoln inside a computer. So now Peter had the creative ideas.

“No, I meant it this way. I’ve seen it done.” Yep, he himself had done it to someone who had bashed her spouse into the very computer that Wade stuffed her with. It was effective but too much dismantling for Wade’s taste. He’d always had Blind Al handle the furniture stuff.

Peter still looked dubious.

[Or disturbed.]

“No, I get this one. I do. Hold on, I can set up a demonstration in like 20 seconds, tops. It’s basically a magic trick as good as the classic bunny pooping out a hat.” He jumped up to pull his laptop from his luggage.

May waved him back down into his seat. “No need, dear. It makes sense to me. And I have the perfect card for Lincoln to be in. . .”

\---

“So what was that about? With your aunt.” Wade swivelled around on Peter’s chair while tapping away at Candy Crush on his phone.

Peter lifted himself onto his elbows from where he lay on his stomach on the bed, showing off that great, bubble butt of his. It would probably make a great pillow. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s all bouncy, and soft, and squishable. Like marshmallows.” He made squishy motions with his hands.

“No, about May.”

“Oh, sure. I thought you had a girlfriend to crash weddings with on your never days off.”

A wince crossed his face, and he rolled onto his back with a sigh. “That was. . . It wasn’t real.”

“Oh.” So a fake gf. Mysterious. Wade tossed his game to the floor and crossed the room to sit next to Peter. Had he made up the girlfriend in hopes that Wade would leave him alone?

[If he did, it didn’t work.]

And he didn’t complain about Wade, just rolled his eyes in more loops than a box of Cheerios. “Is the only passion in your pants for crime, then?” Wade searched Peter’s scrunched-up face for anything besides the obvious annoyance. “This is a judgement-free zone, Webs. For everything except your khakis. You can tell me anything.”

“I have plenty of passion in my khakis to go around, thanks.” Peter sat up in the bed, sidling over to the side to drop his legs over. “And the girlfriend was real, but then. . . not? She had only been with me to —” He cut off abruptly and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Do you remember the whole thing with Doom and us being captured?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve got special Ikea storage for all my traumatic memories.”

“Right.” He let out a shaky breath and refused to meet Wade’s eyes. “Uh. My bad? I let her trick me and use me to make this whole mess happen in the first place.”

Wade’s heart spasmed, and he launched himself into Peter, knocking him over on the bed and squishing him into the mattress in a tight hug. “Don’t go doing that, Sweetums. Victim blaming isn’t cool.”

“I’m not saying I caused it, but I should have seen what was happening and prevented it.” He wiggled under Wade’s weight. “You’re smothering me, dude.”

“Feel free to throw me into another wall. Or onto the mattress.”

{Hng, yes please.}

Spidey made no move to use his super sexy strength. Lame. So Wade continued smothering his favorite not-bug with all the comforting cuddles he could provide.

[Comforting for whom?]

Everyone, obvs. Wade was like a replacement comforter when bloodstains took your old one out of commission. No blood stains could take Wade out of commission. People had tried. He was like a heated, weighted blanket with a lifetime warranty.

{And our life is infinite, so that’s a helluva deal.}

A frown still tugged at Peter’s lips.

“You know, I signed a contract with those fuckers. If you’re blaming yourself, I get to have a piece of it, too. Sharing is caring, right, babe?” He prodded Peter’s cheek with a gloved finger.

“She told them to kill you.” His frown deepened.

{So _she’s_ the fucker we’ve gotta schedule another tooth autotransplantation with.}

[My schedule’s open, so let’s not dawdle.]

Wade dropped his head, letting it rest on Peter’s shoulder. “Yeah, she did, but I’m okay. Besides, it’s kind of the status quo for people who meet me. It’s like the handshake of Deadpool social norms.”

“I’d hate to see what a ‘good morning’ looks like.”

“Ooh! I know that one.” Wade propped himself up on an elbow and held out a middle-finger with a shit-eating grin.

Peter returned the gesture. “Good morning to you, too, Wade.”

“Thanks, babe.” He dropped back down, which resulted in a huff as the air was shoved out of Peter’s lungs, and resumed his cuddling duties of a comforter.

For now, he could make Peter feel better. And as soon as he found the name to add to his naughty list, someone was gonna feel a whole lot worse.

Overall, it was shaping up to be a fun return home.

\---

Peter sat cross-legged in front of, leaning forward to spin the dreidel with all his spidery might.

It landed on gimmel — of fucking course — and he pulled more precious gelt into his ever-increasing pile. Groaning, Wade tossed in another piece. He fiddled with the dreidel but didn’t commit to a spin yet.

He dropped it with a sigh to rival the south wind. “I’m bored, darling.” He crawled over and plopped his head in Peter’s lap, jutting out his lower lip as he gazed up. He had learned Peter was more likely to give in to his wishes if he begged and looked as pathetic as possible.

It was his heroic instinct, which Wade lacked but could totally exploit.

[And nothing’s beneath you.]

{No, we love getting down and dirty.}

[It’s not filthy enough up in that head of yours?]

{You’re the one who didn’t want dividers.}

Peter’s brow scrunched a bit as it did right before he caved.

Wade lifted his hands to squish at Peter’s cheeks and make his face all sorts of cute, cinnamon roll shapes. Adorable.

“Plus, I’m hot. I _know_ you’re hot. I mean, damn.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to Wade’s stomach for an instant. “Thank you. So, you want to cool off? We have ice cream.” His voice was disappointingly level and indifferent.

[It is ice cream we’re talking about here.]

{And hot bods.}

“Hell yeah. But I was also thinking, we could stand to lose a few layers, and this game could use a new currency.” Wade tugged at the strands of one of Peter’s scarfs. 

“You want to play strip dreidel?”

{He gets us.}

Wade grinned. “Well, now that you mention it. What a great idea, Spidey.”

Humming in thought, Peter ran his thumbs along Wade’s jaw.

{Oh my heck. I’m gonna combust.}

[Well, you were horrible while you lasted.]

{Thanks for the eulogy, but I survived, bitches.}

Peter had proven himself to be shockingly willing to touch Wade’s bloody minefield of a mug. Hey, at least acne had no damage left to do. He could touch away.

{ _♪_ _Always look on the bright side of life._ _♪_ }

Peter’s hands burned where they brushed the sensitive scabs and cracks that were always present on bad skin days like today, but Wade had never been happier.

“It is a pretty great idea, isn’t it?” Peter moved his hands behind him to lean back, and Wade rolled forward into a somersault only to flop with all the grace of a beached trout on the carpeted floors.

Wade watched with heart-eyes as Peter climbed to his feet and stretched his hands above his head on the way to the kitchen. His friendly, neighborhood ass bobbed away, but it was coming soon to theatres again — Never you fear.

{We’re fucking geniuses.}

[Mad geniuses at best.]

“I dunno. I’m not mad at it.” He got up to sit on his ass like a good trout and wait for his promised treat.

Soon enough, Peter was back with two ice-cream cartons and rolling his eyes as he placed one in Wade’s grabby hands. Wade successfully shoved most of a heaping spoonful in his mouth and nudged the dreidel over to Peter with his toe.

He choked down his bite of ice cream. “Right now?” He looked at his carton of strawberry then back to Wade with wide, Bambi eyes.

{I guess we’re the one being shot down in this movie.}

[By Bambi himself.]

Hunter!Bambi AU. Kills his own family Oedipus-style. Such was the fever-dream, horror movie that was Wade’s life.

[Answer the poor deer’s question before you cry yourself to sleep.]

Right. “Yeah, let’s hop to it. What better time to get creamed and sticky than while playing sexy dreidel games?”

Peter stuck his chin in his his palm like he was thinking long and hard —

{That’s what I’m thinking.}

— about it. 

“Pancakes.” A victorious grin spread over his face.

“Well, fuck. I can’t argue with that. But the dreidel is right there. We could just bide our time until pancakes.” He nudged it again, and this time, Peter picked it up to spin.

It landed on hay.

“So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Peter shrugged. “You were the one who had the idea.”

“And you’re the Hanukkah expert.”

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh and pulled out his phone. “Okay, so we’ll go with one thing off for hay.”

“Did you look that up?” Wade barrelled over to see the rules on the phone, but Peter clutched it to his chest. “Patience, my young padawan.”

Wade sat back in surrender and tugged off his coat with a flourish. For his turn, something besides Death finally decided to smile down on Wade, and he landed a gimmel, which Peter kindly informed him meant two pieces.

Peter unwound both his scarves and spun again.

They spun and spun, and Wade did begin to feel dizzy a few minutes in. When he pulled off his sweater, leaving only one layer between lingering eyes and obliterated-meatball arms, the room swam a little bit.

[Why did you suggest this? Are you trying to scare him off all at once rather than bit by bit?]

Wade tapped Katrina and the Waves onto his knees as Peter spun again. By this point, Wade recognized the letter and its appointed meaning.

Nun. None. Nothing. No Undressing Necessary.

Wade could have fainted like a southern belle in the summer heat, letting Peter’s strong arms catch him. But, again, he had self-control.

{You don’t need to prove anything to me. Faint away, big guy. Let the cute guy catch us as we fall.}

[Fools, the lot of you.]

While Wade took his turn, Peter scraped up the last remnants of his ice cream and licked the carton like any respectable ruffian would. Wade knew his heart had chosen the right person to make a fool of itself over.

He was so caught up making googly eyes at Peter that he didn’t even notice the dreidel land on hay.

Not until Peter shrugged and forewent removing his sweatshirt layer to just fucking pull his pants right off as if it was nothing. 

A socked, sticky foot jostled Wade from his thoughts.

{Of all the things left, he chose pants. He’s just my type.}

[Everyone’s your type.]

{Him especially.}

[Pantsless is especially your type?]

{You know what I meant.}

Wade looked down at the gimmel and pulled off his remaining glove before hesitating at the hem of his shirt. Peter looked mildly interested, and Wade wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Grimacing, he peeled off his long-sleeve, Power Rangers shirt, which left only a tank. His arms were sickeningly bare. Why the fuck had he thought this was a good idea?

Peter sucked in a breath, and Wade opened his eyes to find him staring at his very-exposed arms of pure cancer. He let out a little, breathy “Damn,” and Wade felt like the pressure would crush him.

“Like what you see?” He tried to keep his voice as joking as Peter’s, but it came out a little pinched. Eh, might as well lean into the humor, give the people what they came for. He flexed as subtly as a neon sign in a cloudless, night sky when he reached for the dreidel.

{Gotta juggle the rotten tomatoes they throw, really give them a show.}

[Or throw them right back in their pickley faces.]

“Do you work out?” Peter said with put-on appreciativeness. Hah. Hilarious.

[Or maybe — and hear me out — he’s actually being serious and just has no taste.]

Wade vowed to find a way to beat White up for talking about his special boy like that.

[Good luck with that, Wade.]

He grinned at Peter to make sure he knew he got the joke. “You don’t need to try the pick-up lines on me. Number one, I’m impervious.”

{Fucking liar.}

“Number C, I’m already your loyal house-spouse, ready to cherish you in sickness and extra whopping, super, cancer sickness.” Hell, yeah. Wade could keep pace with the jokes. This was his terrain.

[And any terrain that isn’t humor, you terraform to be humor, so maybe you should consider that before you say anything else.]

A frown quirked Peter’s lips. “Does it hurt?” He sounded so damn genuine that Wade couldn’t breathe, and the room swam again.

“What, when I fell from heaven? No, because I landed on your soft heart.”

[Wade, you’re being an asshole.]

He cringed. Peter was still staring at him with concern, and the laugh track had swiped out of the shitshow for the night.

So, Wade caved and muttered a simple “Yes.”

“Always?”

He shrugged, trying to will his eyes to stop sweating. Must be the heat.

{Is it hot in here, or is it just Spidey?}

“Shit," Peter breathed, "That must be rough.” He leaned over to grab Wade’s ice cream from the floor and stole a bite before handing it over to Wade.

Rubbing at his rebellious eyes, Wade took the carton and stuffed a melting spoonful in his mouth with a shaking hand. He dropped his hand back down to his lap to hide it behind the ice cream.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. Sickness or super cancer sickness.”

A little sob escaped despite Wade’s best efforts. “Thanks, babe. You know how much I love to talk.”

Peter nodded. “I do.”

Wade scooped up the last, sloppy bite with a content hum. Peter really was too good for his own good, too pure and sweet of a cinnamon roll.

“Can we settle for sleep talking tonight? Because my eyelids are demanding a break from their constant flexing.”

“Sure, Wade.” His smile was softer and more beautiful than dawn, and Wade once again felt like he was drowning.

He made grabby hands up at Peter. “Baby-gorilla style?”

“We’re just walking.” He huffed a laugh but actually picked Wade up, cradling him in his arms. It was even fucking better than baby gorilla, and Wade made plans to demand seating upgrades for all future travels.

{I for one think we should have the occasional baby gorilla.}

[And I think we always managed to get around just fine by ourselves and shouldn’t become dependent now.]

“Don’t worry. I’m still a strong, independent woman that don’t need no man.”

“Duly noted,” Peter chuckled, setting Wade down on the bed and turning to grab something from his closet.

Wade noticed he was wearing Spider-Man themed trunks and laughed. “Were you planning to rip your pants off Superman-style if anyone needed their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man tonight?”

Peter glanced down before walking over to the bed and huddling underneath the covers. “Crime doesn’t wait for laundry day.”

“Fuck, you’re so _good_ ,” Wade said, pulling him close and wrapping around him.

{Yes. Revenge cuddles.}

The taste of revenge was indeed sweet.

\---

The last few days of Hanukkah passed quickly, in a flurry of. . . well, snow, but also food, candles, and enough tea to make England consider another go at colonization. By the end of it, Wade had even learned the blessings well-enough to ditch his phone on the couch in favor of watching the candles burn instead. He’d had plenty of time to watch instructional videos while Peter dozed on his chest in his maintenance of a healthy sleep schedule.

[Another lesson we could learn from him.]

{There’s no pizazz in that.}

Wade wasn’t really sure there was pizazz in waking like the dead to stuff his belongings in his bag through the haze of sleep while more tea was shoved into his hands by a tutting Aunt May, but that’s where he was at, regardless.

May walked out to the porch with them, huddled under a fuzzy blanket. After hugging her goodbye, Peter rolled their bags down the steps while Wade was wrapped up in an unexpected hug.

“I’m glad you two have each other. I was so happy to hear that Peter has someone now. But be sure to take good care of him. Ben may not be here anymore, but I still am, so you should hope I never hear you’ve hurt him.” She patted his back as if to make sure the point was stuck firmly to Wade before stepping back and releasing him.

{Now we see where the spider monkey earned his sticky instincts.}

He goldfished for a moment, looking between May and Peter, who was waving to him from the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, ma’am. Never, ma’am.”

{Could never hurt our special boy.}

[Oh? Are we just ignoring all the times we have? Alright then.}

Wade ground his teeth. He would kill himself before May could, then come back around for her to take her turn. Hell, Peter could have a few shots at it if Wade ever hurt him again. Still, he was trying to get better for Peter.

[You’ll never be enough for him.]

“That’s a dear. Chanukah sameach.”

“Happy Hanukkah. Thank you for inviting me along.” He trotted down the stairs with a final wave to May and grabbed his bag from the snow.

\---

“Welcome back to Kansas, Toto.” Wade shoved open the door to his apartment and gestured inside for Peter to walk in. He followed behind and rushed to his room to grab a mask.

Once his nuclear fallout zone was fully covered, Wade bounded back out to the couch to see what Peter was ordering for lunch. Anything other than chimichangas would result in chimichangas.

“Mexican okay?” Peter didn’t even bat an eye as Wade launched himself over the back of the couch to plop into the seat next to him.

{He always knows just what to say.}

“Oh my god. I could fuck you right now.”

[. . . And evidently, you never do.]

“I’m just going to take that as a ‘yes.’” Peter tapped a number into his phone. He had it memorised, the nerd. Be still, Wade’s stupid heart.

[It’s just chimichangas.]

{How fucking dare you?}

The food passed the time easy enough until Peter suited up for his nightly patrol. Wade had suited up a while earlier because he needed to wash his new favorite sweatpants, and he was also maybe feeling a little trigger-happy with his nightly plans strolling around in his head all day.

“I’ll catch up later, boo. Wouldn’t want you lugging me around at birdly heights while you’re still getting back into the swing of things.” He wiggled his fingers goodbye.

Peter’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t question it. “Alright. Just don’t complain if a shootout happens while you’re napping on the couch.” He tugged on his mask and thwipped away out the window.

Wade jumped up from the couch and pulled out a gun from his suit with a coo. “Welcome back, babies. Daddy’s got a job for you.”

[So you’ll talk to them but not me?]

{Rude, big guy.}

“They’re just jealous because they can’t make people bleed as pretty as you can.” Wade tucked the gun back away and jumped out the window. Spidey was already out of sight, probably trying to convince some bank robbers to see a light that wasn’t police sirens.

Wade waltzed down the street to Peter’s work, and strolled into the building, where one office light was still on. 

{That’s the light for us. None of that metaphorical shit.}

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal the lit room at the end of the cubicles. Bully-boss sat at the desk, scribbling away at his precious papers that made Peter frown when he got home every day. It just wouldn’t do.

Wade pulled out a pair of guns and stalked toward the room.

[This could go very wrong, Wade.]

He shoved White to the back of his mind and aimed a gun at Jameson as he walked into the office and closed the door behind him. 

Jameson only looked up when the door clicked closed. “Spider-Man!”

“You’re gonna wish I was him. Nah, I’m just the shitbag who shows up when even shitter bags need to be taught a lesson.” He crowded into Jameson’s space with narrowed eyes.

“Take one step closer and I’ll call the cops.” He held up a phone, which Wade promptly shot a hole in. Jameson took a step back.

{Not so tough guy now, huh?}

“You, J. Jonah Jameson, are gonna leave Spidey. No more papers talking about him unaliving people or taking a shit on public roofs. No more bullshit because, unlike Spidey, I’m more than happy to take out the trash and light a dumpster fire to it. Capiche?”

Jameson glanced with wide eyes at his notes then at the gun pointed at his hand. Wade couldn’t care less about his frowning-pile-of-poop for a brain, really. It was the writing that mattered.

[Plus we can’t have him dying and leaving Peter out of a job.]

{I have to give it to you, White. You actually have a point for once.}

[I will stab you with any points I can for that.]

Jameson nodded once, frown deepening. “I’ll cut you a deal. Two weeks off of the Spider-Menace. And we’ll cut him some slack in the story a reporter caught wind of about him prancing around with a known criminal.”

Oopsies. That was probably Wade. He wondered if Spidey knew about the _Bugle_ ’s newest story. “Counteroffer: cut that story entirely, and I won’t cut your hand off.”

He wiped his paled face off before extending a hand to Wade to shake.

Wade grabbed it and wrung his hand around the wrist before pushing it toward him and holding it there. “Glad we got that worked out,” he chirped. “But there’s one more little thing left. You need to seriously increase the positive reinforcement around here. Any HR complaints with your name on them, and no one’ll have to worry about you again.” He released Jameson’s hand —

{Bo-ring.}

— and patted him on the back all chum-like.

[Left a nice, friendly handprint to remember us by.]

“Glad we have an understanding.” He skipped back to the elevator, eager to join Spidey and do more than wave a gun around in some nobody’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help, I'm drowning in sappy lines.
> 
> Once again, a shout out to CuteAsAMuntin, my hero of the day, for more holiday help.
> 
> Also! I finally typed up a total chapter number to plug in up there. And I've finished my chapter outlines, so I'm pretty excited about that and for the rest of the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it.
> 
> Next chapter: MJ, Matt, and a prison break


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